Stars Collide
by Buffelyn
Summary: Introduce Rick Montague to Evelyn Capulet, watch the sparks fly, then toss in the Book of the Dead and a mysterious locket. Sommers meets Shakespeare meets Buffelyn. Now FIN :):):)
1. Prologue

Stars Collide

Introduce Rick Montague to Evelyn Capulet, watch the sparks fly, then toss in the Book of the Dead and a mysterious locket. Sommers meets Shakespeare meets Buffelyn. Enjoy and review:)

I've borrowed the plot bones from Bill (although technically he's public domain now:), the characters from Stephen (he does own them technically:), and mixed things up a lot so don't be alarmed by deviances to the R + J lore. After all, if I didn't make the story my own, what would be the point? To that end I have condensed characters, eliminated some, thrown out plotlines and added many twisty original ones. And don't be thrown off by, say, our normally terse-spoken Rick being particularly eloquent--this is, after all, a Shakespearean-inspired love story:) Have fun;) ~Buff

~*~*~*~

Residents of New Verona:

The Montague family...

**Richard Montague**, _our dashing hero_

**Jonathan Montague**, _prime minister of Hamunaptra_

**Sheila Montague**, _Jonathan's fourth wife_

**Ardeth**, _Rick's friend and kinsman to Chief Bey_

**Izzy**, _Rick's kinsman_

_the Montague gang_--**Daniels, Burns & Henderson**

The Capulet family...

**Evelyn Capulet**, _our lovely heroine_

**Seti Capulet**, _king of Hamunaptra_

**Anck Simon-Capulet**, _deceased wife of Seti, mother of Evelyn_

**"Lock" Capulet**, _Evelyn's kinsman_

_the Capulet gang_--**Red, Jacques & Spivey**

The other players...

**Father Imhotep**, _priest and confidant of both families_

**Beni Parris**, _son of a duke_

**Chief Bey**, _law keeper of New Verona_

~*~*~*~

Prologue

Most of the headlines were inaccurate, of course, and without even reading the attached articles, Imhotep knew they would be drivel, too. Tabloids had gobbled up the love story like it was the greatest scandal of the millennium. "ILLICIT LOVE AFFAIR SHAMES ROYAL FAMILY..." "BADBOY HEIR SEDUCES VIRGIN PRINCESS..." "SUICIDES SPARK RIOTS, PANIC IN STREETS..." Or, if they had chosen to go with the more sentimental bent, something like, "YOUNG LOVERS FALL VICTIM TO SENSELESS TRAGEDY."

The local newspapers had handled the events with somewhat more dignity and respect, but that was only because they were all owned by one of the two families. The New Verona Times declared, "HEARTBREAK PRODUCES FRAGILE BUT WELCOME PEACE." The Hamunaptra Herald announced, "SUICIDES HIGHLIGHT NEED FOR COMPROMISE; SIDES MEET TO DISCUSS ISSUES."

It occurred to Father Imhotep as he stood there at the newsstand that he was the only one left in New Verona who knew the truth. Perceptions colored by family loyalty and personal agendas had twisted the tale into one of deceit and betrayal. He alone had the ability to set the record straight. Osiris knew his own troubled conscience could use some easing.

He knew he wasn't going to say a word, however, because he also knew it would do no good. Let the people work themselves up into a frenzy until the next headline came along, until they all became but a footnote in a history textbook, until they could be forgotten. So that somewhere, somehow, the truth would live peacefully. So that they might live on, happy. 

Father Imhotep flipped the vendor a coin and tucked the newspaper under his arm as he walked away. It was a small regional paper that hardly anyone read, but its headline, at least, was not tainted by false beliefs. Only the truth, whether by chance or divine intervention, simple, shining, bright, beautiful...

"LOVE OVERCOMES."

~*~*~*~

Chapter 1 arrives as soon as you tell me what you think:)


	2. One: Welcome to New Verona

To a certain someone...Get over yourself. 

All right, author's note done. I swear I'll never do that again. And I didn't even mention the Spanish Inquisition. Oh, wait! Oops, too late:) 

1. Welcome to New Verona

Tinted windows hid from view what might have been quite an event in New Verona, even for a city of its size. The long black car slipped quietly through the busy streets, its tiny purple and gold flags fluttering in the wind as they allowed the car to bypass traffic jams and tollbooths. A moving truck followed the limousine closely, as did two matching black cars behind and in front. 

The woman encased in the stifling safety of the limousine was no ordinary celebrity. With the passing of her mother three months ago, she had become perhaps the most beloved young woman in the country. Her four year absence from her city had only endeared her to the populace more, for her cause was so noble and, as believed the people, her heart so pure. 

Twenty-one and a newly-minted graduate of Cairo University at Luxor, Evelyn Capulet's life had been minutely documented in tabloids and countless tell-all biographies, but they had never succeeded in tarnishing her image. Intelligent, of course. Valedictorian, 4.0, honors. Untouchably beautiful, but never cold. Her kindness was well-known throughout Hamunaptra; the charity that bore her name generated more income for more causes than all the other organizations in the country put together. The people of Hamunaptra all thought of her as their own daughter, perfect, lovely, giving. 

Evelyn's father held almost as esteemed a position in the public eye, though this was due less to personality than obligation. For Evelyn's father, Seti Capulet, was king, and although in these modern times the monarchy had devolved into little more than a figurehead, the family Capulet still held more prestige and power than any other name in New Verona. 

Well, _almost_ any other name. 

The woman in question was not paying much attention to the passing scenery, for she was much too involved in the nervous workings of her own mind. She'd never been close to her father growing up, and her mother's death would only drive the wedge further, she suspected. Sporadic phone calls had strung together their relationship over the last four years, and Evelyn's being 300 miles away in Luxor had certainly deteriorated their already tenuous rapport. He hadn't even attended her graduation. 

Evelyn rolled the window down, drawing a warning look from her driver, but she ignored him. She closed her eyes and pretended that she wasn't in a limousine, for once, that maybe the wind she felt on her face was the result of riding carefree down the street in a little sports car. 

Right. The day her father allowed her that much freedom was the day she was dead. Evelyn grabbed her purse off the seat beside her and dug through it until she found the small compact mirror. She tucked a stray hair behind her ear and checked carefully to make sure that her makeup had not smudged. Perhaps a bit too much foundation today, but the cameras would be at a distance, she hoped. People had no idea how much work it took to appear this perfect. Even in college she hadn't had much of a chance to rework her image. Three-hundred miles didn't do much to calm the public's seemingly insatiable fascination with her life. That was one thing her father had never forgotten to tell her...

"Image, Evelyn, it's all about image. We have a responsibility to the people, _you_ have a responsibility to your family. It's like a full-time job, the people _expect_ it. Image, it's all about image..."

Today that advice had translated into a black suit over a gray and black striped blouse, hair straightened and confined into a neat bun, smoky kohl eyeliner that Evelyn felt was her one cry in the night of rebellion. And of course the same locket she wore everyday, antique silver, slightly tarnished. It had been her mother's, and she hadn't opened it since Anck had bestowed the treasure upon her. This was not for lack of attempts to open it, but her mother had never given up the secret of its unlocking. According to Anck, there was a picture of Evelyn's father inside. Evelyn supposed she'd never actually see it, for Queen Anck had taken all knowledge of her mysterious locket to the grave, and the lock showed no signs of releasing its hold after all these years. 

Tattoos stretched from wrist to elbow on the left arm, from index finger to shoulder on the right, though no one could see if that arm was further inscribed as the man's shirt obscured further viewing. If they had been at liberty to peruse the rest of the artwork, they would have seen "Ardeth" scrawled across his back, obscured by a complicated weave of shapes and outlines. "Betsy" was forever entombed further down, as well as a "Gracie" on his left arm and a "Tia" somewhere he'd care not to mention. His long black hair was slicked back behind his ears as was the fashion, and in combination with his dusky skin was likely to send most women into comas with a mere glimpse. 

This all would have been if not for the fact that he lounged comfortably in a chair in the prison lobby. He was not there on his own behalf, but owing to all those tattoos, that was what most assumed. His wallet, however, was at the moment empty in aid of another slightly shady character, though one that might have appeared more clean-cut at first glance. 

The man he waited for was led out into the lobby, and Ardeth stretched lazily and unfolded himself from the small chair. His friend's tired blue eyes were bloodshot, he noticed, but that was understandable after a night in prison and what looked like a monster hangover. They exchanged no words until they'd exited the police station and walked out into the bright sunlight. 

Ardeth unlocked the passenger door of the white sports car. "Care to enlighten me?" he asked. 

His friend squinted in the sun and slumped as far down as possible into the seat. "Take a guess."

"Sweet Rosaline broke up with you again."

"Yes."

"A drinking binge followed."

"Yes."

"They threw you out of another bar, didn't they?"

"You know me too well."

Ardeth swung the little car out of the parking lot. "Listen, Rick, Rosaline isn't worth it. There are plenty of nice girls out there--"

"Could you please not say her name anymore?"

"Sorry, man." 

Rick closed his eyes and slid farther down the seat. He'd heard the name Rosaline enough to last him more than one lifetime. If he _ever_ saw that woman again it would be too soon. In fact, _any_ woman right now would be entirely too much to take. 

Rick had never had any trouble at all in getting dates; his good looks had seen to that. His handsome face was framed by brown hair just short enough to be respectable, just long enough to keep up with the trend, and set off by a pair of startling blue eyes. Tall, muscular, dashing to a fault, he'd certainly inherited his father's way with women. 

That was, as Rick saw it, most of the problem. His father was on his fourth wife at the age of forty-five, and never seemed to have qualms about keeping one or two more women around as spares. Rick's own mother, first in the line of Mrs. Montagues, had died in childbirth, so he supposed he couldn't fault his father for that one ending on a sour note. The current wife was Sheila, 29, blond, vapid, though perhaps more ambitious than the others. _That_ prenuptial was going to run the Montague fortune into the ground. 

This might have all added up to a rather dysfunctional family, and indeed it did, but there was one more circumstance which made it an absolute nightmare. Jonathan Montague, Rick's father, just happened to be the prime minister of the fair country of Hamunaptra, and though the public pretended to be horrified at the scandals surrounding him, they knew the family Montague could squash anything or anyone that got in its way. 

Well, except for maybe one. 

Ardeth slammed his foot on the breaks, causing Rick to fly forward into the dash. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Red light," replied Ardeth, placing a pair of blue-tinted sunglasses over his eyes. "Put your seatbelt on."

As they watched the traffic crawl across the intersection they both noticed the limousine approaching. "Capulet flags," muttered Ardeth. "Stay low, could be that bastard Lock."

Rick was only half-listening, for just as he had begun to slouch down in his seat he'd caught sight of the open passenger window, and he saw something there which made him sit up a little straighter. 

It wasn't just that she was beautiful, for she was certainly that, but there was something longing in her green gaze that caught his eyes and held them. Something distant, far away, as if her soul held untapped riches that were kept in check by pure force of will. Something...

The limousine cleared the intersection and was gone. New Verona and its people would never be the same. 

~*~*~*~

You know the drill. There's a little purple (or blue, as the case may be) button down there that would love you hear from y'all.


	3. Two: Tough Love

Desperation: "loss of hope and surrender to despair; a state of hopelessness leading to rashness." I feel rather bitchy today, sorry. :):):):):):):):) Mmmwah!!! Bring on the love, baby. Dear me, I'm in a strange mood. 

2. Tough Love

She was one of those beauties who took care that no one ever got too close, for those brave souls were likely to be asphyxiated by the amount of hairspray she bestowed upon her luxurious golden head. She might have been pretty without all the fuss of the silver eye makeup and exquisite clothing, but the woman had money, and was therefore expected to flaunt it. Her lovely but heavily lacquered mouth curved into a thousand-watt smile and began to speak. "This has been Sheila Montague reporting live at the Commons House for KING-7." 

Her cameraman gave a signal, a little red-light blinked, and Sheila threw the microphone to the floor. "Damn it, Nick, I said three seconds! Not two! Three!"

The man placed his camera into its padded case. He rolled his eyes as he spoke but was careful to keep his back to the reporter. "What difference does it make?"

Sheila's brow creased and her eyelids lowered, never a good sign as far as Mrs. Montague was concerned. "That's it. You're fired. Get your ass out of this building or I'll have it thrown out."

"Is there a problem here?"

The cameraman straightened up at the intrusion of a third voice. "Uh, no, mister prime minister, your wife and I were just discussing--"

"His need of a new job," interrupted Sheila. "Get out."

As the cameraman hurried down the steps of the capital building the third presence took Sheila's arm. Jonathan Montague had aged handsomely thus far, though the gray at his temples and his tired demeanor betrayed the stress that leading a country had heaped upon him. "Dear, what say you we walk a bit? I have things on my mind."

Sheila's famous on-camera smile had returned, all traces of her temper gone. "Of course, dear husband. What is wrong?"

Jonathan led her down a nearby hallway which had been bedecked in green and blue finery. It was the pathway they used to impress foreign visitors on the way to the prime minister's office, though Jonathan favored it simply for its length. It gave him a calm place to think in the midst of the storm that constantly swirled around him. "I didn't hear Rick come in last night. Do you know where he could be?"

His wife's tinkling laugh reverberated round the marble walls. "First of all, it is a very big house. He might have come in late without us knowing."

"I asked the gatemen, he has not entered since he left two days ago."

"Your son is young, Jonathan, he is probably just off somewhere with his friends. Is that not so unusual?"

"Too common, dear wife. I worry at what he will become."

"I wouldn't worry too much; after all, Richard _is_ your son. He cannot help but accomplish great things."

Jonathan pressed a hand to his head, rubbing at weary eyes with his palm. "Indeed. I worry because I remember what I was at that age."

"I did not know you then, husband, I could not say."

By now they'd reached the office, and Jonathan let go of Sheila's arm as he spotted a young man waiting outside it. "Give me leave, I have business to attend to."

"Will you be home tonight?"

"Unless I drop dead of exhaustion before then."

Sheila did not acknowledge her husband's attempt at humor, simply nodding and hurrying back down the hall from whence they'd come. Jonathan watched her go for a minute, wondering what in the world his wife did with her time when she wasn't being New Verona's most popular television journalist. She certainly never seemed anxious to spend more time with him. 

The prime minister shook these thoughts off and turned his attention to his young nephew, who waited patiently by the door to his uncle's office. He wore a patch over one eye as the result of a street fight several years ago. Jonathan suspected the patch was meant to give his nephew a somewhat debonair appearance, but this sought reputation was tempered by his notoriously lighthearted manner. 

"Izzy," said Jonathan, taking out his ring of keys to open the door. "How are your parents doing?"

"As well as can be expected, uncle, with me for a child. And you?"

Jonathan gestured for Izzy to sit in one of plush armchairs that lined his outer office, himself plopping down on a nearby couch. "My own son looks to be the death of me. The worry has me nearly out of my mind. Might you know where he is?"

Izzy hesitated, picking at a stray thread on the armchair. "I might."

"Well? Do you or don't you? The question is simple enough."

"I fear the answer is much more complicated."

"Is it that Rosaline again? That girl is no good for him."

"I agree, uncle. And so does Rick; he'll no longer dwell on Rosaline."

"Thank Osiris. They've broken up, then? So where has he been? Don't tell me I have to shell out more bail money?" At Izzy's carefully blank stare, Jonathan stood. "He got arrested again, didn't he? Something to do with Rosaline?"

"No, no, nothing like that. As soon as Rosaline was out of his sight he headed to the local pub, and it was there I saw him arrested some hours later."

Jonathan sat back down on the couch. "What was bail set at?"

"Oh, Ardeth already got him out. I suppose he wouldn't mind a check, though..."

"Was it quiet? Can we keep it out of the papers?"

"I should think so, sir, only a out-of-towner was hurt in the fight--"

"A fight? Osiris, what next!"

"Parris, I think his name was. He held his liquor as well as Rick, though his reflexes were not nearly so fast."

"Will he press charges, you think?"

Izzy smiled. "No. I think the embarrassment was enough for the lad. I daresay we won't hear from him again."

A familiar feeling of comfort overwhelmed Evelyn as she stepped out of the sunlight and flash of cameras into the deserted front foyer. While away she'd rarely had time to be homesick, but suddenly being back in the castle brought with it a barrage of memories. After a few moments Evelyn realized she was staring at the staircase in front of her as if she expected someone to come down it and greet her. Indeed, she expected her mother, but never again would Queen Anck float down the grand stairway to welcome her daughter home. 

Evelyn wiped away a tear as she stood alone in the foyer. She was a princess, for Osiris' sake, shouldn't she be loved enough in her own home to be greeted by someone, anyone, after a four-year absence? Not even a kindly cook to offer something sweet, nary a maid to help her unpack, not a soul in sight to welcome back a most beloved daughter. No one at all...

Evelyn's heart nearly burst when her father came bustling around the corner. So he had remembered, after all, and come to--

"Evelyn?" the king said, catching sight of his daughter in the midst of her luggage. "Why, we'd about given you up for dead. Weren't you supposed to be back Wednesday?"

Evelyn's smile became a bit strained, but she kept it on. "No, father, Friday. Today. Did you not expect me?"

"A most welcome surprise. And just in time for the party." Seti gave Evelyn an pat on the back before gesturing for her to join him in his stroll. "Before the party, though, I must discuss something with you. Do you know of the Duke of the Mathayus province, Parris?"

"Of course."

"You probably do not remember his son, Beni, but he is staying with us on holiday from his duties in Mathayus. He will be attending the party tonight, and I thought perhaps the two of you might hit it off."

The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that so often accompanied Evelyn's discussions with Seti had returned. "Father..."

"Twenty-one and not married, Evelyn, it is almost shameful."

Evelyn blushed slightly at the thought of those blue eyes that had caught her imagination earlier that day, but banished them from her mind before replying. "I was under the impression that we'd settled this four years ago."

The king stopped and waved away the servants that crowded around them. "So you went to college, good for you. I'm proud of you, I really am. And now, you can rule your people even better for the experience... With your husband by your side."

"Father, I don't--"

"Evelyn, you have a responsibility to this country, a responsibility I do not take lightly. I will see you married by summer's end."

"And what if I refuse?"

"You cannot. I am your father, and you will do what I tell you." Seeing her look of despair, he continued in a slightly softer tone of voice. "Now, I'm not asking for a decision right away. But tonight, at the party, look upon Beni Parris kindly Perhaps after you've met him, your dissent will be subdued somewhat."

"I highly doubt it, father, but I will do as you say."

Seti smiled broadly, any hint of sarcasm lost on him in the face of such welcome obedience. "Wonderful. You'd best prepare for the party, then. I will see you tonight."

The king clicked his fingers, drawing forth a posse of servants and hangers-on, and swept down the hallway. Evelyn looked after him, the resentment which she had so long contained flying nearly out of control. "You cannot tell me how to live," she said to the empty room, suddenly realizing in the silence how very alone she was. 

~*~*~*~


	4. Three: Old Habits Die Hard

Thanks to Natters, Deana, Adrienne, Dylan, and Asilin :) Decided to post two chapters today :) Woo hoo :)

3. Old Habits Die Hard

Over twenty years now had passed since Imhotep had first come to New Verona. He'd spent his youth just north of Alexandria, living with his aunt and uncle on the family farm. That was to say, they'd tolerated him until the day he turned eighteen, upon which they had written him a check and told him never to set foot on their property again. Young Imhotep had been glad to go, for the restrictions they'd placed on him had been tedious at best and insufferable at worst. That was, indeed, the root cause of the clash between him and his family members, and as a teenager Imhotep had had that unavoidable tendency to, well...be a teenager. 

It wasn't his fault that the police saw it as criminal mischief, right?

The money had run out a year later, and Imhotep had been taken under the wing of a local priest who saw something else in the young boy that had apparently gone unnoticed 'til then. Imhotep had entered the priesthood on his twentieth birthday, and had never looked back. He found it surprisingly easy to pledge his life to the mythical gods and goddesses that his people worshipped. Though they did it blindly, Imhotep prided himself on knowledge and understanding, and took care to research any point he made before passing it on to the populace. 

Five years later he'd been transferred to the main temple at New Verona to assist the high priest there. Unbeknownst to all but a close few, the man was dying, and passed away a few months after Imhotep's arrival. In the flurry of grief which had followed, for the priest had been much loved, Imhotep had somehow become confidant to the heads of the two most powerful families in New Verona. He was unsure which one he had met first, but had sworn from the very beginning not to play favorite to either one. Except for few slips here and there, Imhotep was fairly sure his pledge had remained unbroken over the two decades that had followed. 

Jonathan Montague had still been young when Imhotep had come to the capital, but over the years his youthful tendencies had not eased in the slightest. Twenty years ago, he had just been beginning his first term as prime minister, and his first act in the office had been to abolish term limits. He had a sort of likableness about him that belied his darker sides, but was generally reasonable and a fair leader when his own purposes allowed it. He was on his second wife when Imhotep made the acquaintance of the family. Imhotep could honestly not remember her name, and he wasn't sure Jonathan did, either. At the time little Richard Montague had been four years old, and while not advanced in years, he was certainly experienced in trouble-making. In some of his less charming traits Imhotep had recognized himself as a lad, and had made sure to keep a close eye on the boy throughout the years. 

Then there was Seti Capulet, middle-aged and balding, exasperating and capricious, commanding respect for no other reason than that he was king. Imhotep tolerated the man but had never really taken a liking to him, though the two kept up all appearances of being good friends. His beautiful wife, Anck, and their tiny daughter Evelyn, born a few months later, were much more pleasant to be around, and Imhotep had grown close to them, as well. It had made Anck's recent death all the more heartbreaking, and Imhotep was impatient for Evelyn to come home from college so he could be sure she was all right. She had been as close to her mother as could have almost anyone, even after four years away from home. 

"Father Imhotep?" 

Imhotep looked up from his papers to find that the youngest Montague stood in the doorway. "Have a nice night in jail?" asked Imhotep, turning his attention back to his desk. "How's your hangover?"

"I'm sorry, I--"

"I don't want to hear it." Imhotep threw his pen down on the desk and sat back. "Why can't you go home? Is it your father again? What, is he asking you to quit drinking? Maybe get a job? Be responsible for once in your life?"

Rick's jaw was set and he stared straight ahead. "Done with the lecture yet?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you heard me the first time."

"I hear you. It's just a matter of whether I listen."

Imhotep couldn't help smiling as he stood. "You're impossible. Unfortunately, I have known you since you were four, and if I really wanted to I could blackmail the hell out of you."

"You must be in a good mood, you never swear."

"Walk with me." Imhotep gestured for Rick to follow him down the corridor that lined the outer edge of the temple. "How's Rosaline?"

"Why don't you ask Daniel Mundy, I hear they're quite close these days."

"Somewhere out there, Rick, is a girl who you probably don't deserve. And someday, you're going to find that you can't live without her."

It took Rick a moment to reply, for a different woman, one considerably more beautiful than Rosaline, had appeared in his head, and he found it annoyingly difficult to get it out again. She had beautiful long brown hair and swirling green eyes, and her smile seemed affixed in his memory banks for all time. "Have you ever been in love?"

Imhotep also took a while to reply. "Yes."

"Are you still?"

The priest stopped at the open gate at the main temple wall. "I will love her until the day I die."

_Beep beep!_ came a horn from the street, and the men looked to see a white sports car idled as impatiently as cars can at the curb. "I'd better go," said Rick. "I just wanted to check in."

"Be careful."

"Always." Rick skipped down the steps to the car with spirits considerably lightened, as chats with the priest usually ended. If he tried hard, he could even ignore the pounding headache which had accompanied him since last night. "What are you doing here?" Rick asked as he climbed into the back. 

"We have a little problem," said Ardeth, not moving away from the curb. "There's been a...confrontation."

"A confrontation?"

"Well..." Ardeth looked over to Izzy, who occupied the passenger seat. "Would you call it a confrontation?"

Izzy contemplated it for a moment, then said, "No. I'd call it a war."

Rick closed his eyes. The headache was returning. "What...happened?"

Ardeth put the car in drive and pulled away from the temple. "Totally unprovoked. Bastards came out of left field."

"Just tell me."

Izzy decided to fill Rick in where Ardeth seemed at a loss for explanations. "Lock's little gang decided it would be a fun time to run our guys' car off the road. The Mustang, the red one that Henderson's been working on for years."

"Who else was in the car?"

"Burns and Daniels, who else? Lock and his boys pulled up beside them, words were exchanged, Daniels fired a shot, and they subsequently found themselves in a ditch."

"Was everyone okay?"

Izzy paused. "Define 'okay.'"

"Daniels shot someone, didn't he?"

"You know that whiny little piece of...I mean, uh, Spivey? He's in intensive care. Lock has promised retribution. Police showed up immediately, or our guys'd be dead for sure."

"What'd the police say?"

"Let Daniels off with a warning, unless Spivey dies. Chief-Holier-Than-Thou said--"

Ardeth shot Izzy a warning look, and Izzy quickly got the message. "Uh, I mean, Ardeth's uncle, he said any more problems and the instigating side is going to jail."

"He always says that."

"He's serious this time. I'm telling you, man, Lock is out for blood."

Ardeth cleared his throat theatrically. "If I may...I have a suggestion."

"I don't think I want to hear it," said Izzy. "This time one of your stunts could get us killed."

"It's not a stunt. It's an shrewd business decision."

"All right, all right, let's hear it."

With the full attention of his passengers, Ardeth forged ahead with his plan. "So the Capulets are holding a masque tonight, are they not?"

"I don't like the sound of this."

"I say we go to the masque. No one will recognize us; we'll be disguised. It's the perfect way to provoke Lock without actually getting in trouble for it. Lock will know it, but the police won't be able to prove we were there, how could we get tickets?"

"How _could_ we get tickets?"

Ardeth gestured grandly with his left hand. "In the glove compartment, my friend, you will find five passes to the annual Capulet ball, courtesy of my uncle. Only he doesn't know he gave them to me."

"No," said Rick, as firmly as he could. "That's suicide. We are _not_ going. We're not."

Ardeth caught his friend's eye in the rear-view mirror. "The girl from the Capulet limo. I'd wager she'll be there."

Rick didn't hesitate. Reaching for the glove compartment, he said, "Give me my damn ticket."

~*~*~*~


	5. Four: Family Crises

4. Family Crises

Evelyn slid into the front pew and took three deep, calming breaths before noticing that in the meantime, someone had sat beside her. She looked over to find Father Imhotep had joined her, and she threw her arms around him. 

"Father Imhotep!" she cried. "Oh, it has been too long!"

"I agree, Evelyn," he said, chuckling at her enthusiasm. "How is it you never found the time to come home to visit your friends in four long years?"

"I might ask the same of you, Father. Often I would read your letters when I was homesick for New Verona. They were much appreciated."

Imhotep sat back, scrutinizing the smiling young woman. Four years had certainly changed her, she was no longer the withdrawn, ungainly teenager she had once been. From her correspondence Imhotep had certainly been aware of the change, but seeing her now after so much time was still a shock. The grown-up Evelyn had the bearing of a queen. "You look just like your mother," he said, before he could stop himself.

Evelyn sat back in the pew, staring at her hands. "I understand you performed the eulogy. Lock said it was beautiful."

"I only tried to do your mother justice." Imhotep blinked back a tear and cleared his throat before continuing. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"You don't have to be okay yet, Evelyn. It's perfectly normal to feel..."

She took another deep breath. "Like your life's been ripped in two?"

"Something like that, yes."

"Do you think she felt anything?"

It was a question he would do anything to avoid thinking about, let alone answering, but Evelyn needed closure, and if this conversation would help her... "The coroner..." he began, then had to clear his throat again. "The coroner said she died of smoke inhalation. It was quick."

Evelyn wiped a tear from her eye. "I can't think of a more horrible way to die. Trapped, like that." 

"We can comfort ourselves with the fact that she's in a better place."

"How do you know that?"

"Sometimes..." Imhotep shrugged. "You just have to believe."

The tears came faster now, and Evelyn could not hold them back. "I'm scared for her. I'm scared of where she is. You can't tell me you know for sure she's okay. You don't know if she's at peace, or if she's in pain. And there's nothing we can do for her. There's no way to know, or to...bring her back."

She tipped her head back to contemplate the ceiling. After literally decades of restoration, the temple was probably the most beautiful building in the capital. The ceiling glittered with gold-plated frescoes that hovered above the parishioners as if they guarded the secrets of heaven. Osiris was the main deity pictured, but around him his fellow gods floated in seas of red, black and gold, accompanied by the occasional divinely inspired king. Evelyn had not seen the ceiling since it had been completed, and its splendor nearly took her breath away. 

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Imhotep said. "Whenever I feel low, I come in here and sit, and I look up...and suddenly anything seems possible."

_Anything seems possible._ "Father Imhotep, I have a question."

"Fire away."

"How do you know if you're in love?"

Imhotep groaned. "Popular topic today."

"What?"

"Nothing. Why do you ask?"

Despite the lump in her throat, Evelyn smiled. Indeed, what right did a princess have to think of love? Was it not her duty to marry the rich son of a duke and produce heirs and stand timidly by his side for the rest of her life? No matter that she had a mind of her own, a college education, and a simple thirst just to be loved by someone who did not know of her title. "Why else would one ask that question, Father?"

"Have you met someone?"

Evelyn bit her lip, wondering how she should answer. "Yes. No. Sort of. Not really. Sort of."

Imhotep's face held a mixture of disgust and horror. "It's not...it's not Beni Parris, is it?"

"No! I have not even seen the man."

"Avoid it at all costs. He's insufferable."

Evelyn couldn't help but laugh at her friend's teasing, and somehow the simple act eased her soul a bit. It had been too long since she'd truly laughed. 

Rick eyed his reflection in the mirror critically. Ardeth had come up with some pretty outrageous get-ups before, but this was ridiculous. It was a fairly normal suit, but it was sewn entirely from white fabric, barring the silver accents around the lapel and pockets. Rick knew the party was a masque, but come on...

"You don't really expect me to wear this, do you?" he asked his friend, who stood in the doorway. 

"It's a costume party!" said Ardeth. "We've got to blend in. I've got a mask for you, too."

"And what, may I ask, are you going to be wearing?"

Ardeth produced a hanger from behind his back, upon which hung another suit. It was significantly brighter than Rick's costume, and a touch more flamboyantly designed. "Orange. And I got all the boys powder blue."

"I see. Maybe I'm lucky I got the white."

A new voice intruded on the conversation, cold and biting. "I think you look just smashing."

Rick did not have to turn around to recognize the voice. He should know his own father, shouldn't he? Or at least, that's what he had always believed. A father and son should be close, they should be friends, they should depend on each other...or so Rick had read. His own relationship with Jonathan Montague was something less than what was supposed to be perfect. 

"I'll just, uh, leave you two to..." Ardeth trailed off, and Rick knew his friend had left. He heard the click of the door as his father closed it behind him, and they were alone. 

"Where the hell have you been?" Jonathan asked, and Rick finally turned to meet his eyes. Though both would have liked to look away, both had pride, and neither wanted to lose a staring contest. "Your mother and I have been worried sick."

"She's not my mother, stop pretending she is. I doubt she'd know if I was dead."

"And what if you were?" Jonathan began to pace, though he kept eye contact with his son. "Your luck's going to run out one of these days and we're going to find you dead in a gutter somewhere."

"What do you care?" As soon as the words had left his mouth, Rick knew it was a mistake, but he decided to press forward anyway. "You have no idea who I am."

"You're my son, and I know what's best for you."

"Maybe if you'd taken the time to be my father, you'd know I don't need you to make those decisions for me."

The words stung Jonathan, though he'd had many years of practice in the political arena and could easily hide his hurt. Whatever truth there was to his son's statement, however, his pride told him that an equal amount of blame lay in Rick's lap. "And what of you? You have a responsibility to your family, you know. You can't just go out drinking every night and slack off every day and expect us to pick up the tab every time you get thrown in jail."

Gods, the man was infuriating! How was it possible that they were related? "Seems to be working so far," Rick snapped. "Besides, I pay my own way. I have a job. Or haven't you noticed?"

"Yes, actually, I did know that. And your supervisor told me yesterday that unless you clean up your act, he's going to have to fire you." 

"He's lying."

Jonathan's slap came and went in an instant, though the sound of it rung in their ears for hours afterward. Rick's skin stung with the impact, and finally was forced to forfeit the staring contest. 

"Do not deceive me," Jonathan said, taking a step forward so that he was almost in his son's face. "You will do whatever it takes to shape up, or you are out on the street, do you hear me? I've gotten you a different job, working with Senator Shepard. It'll keep you busy, and when it doesn't, you are not to be out drinking, partying, or otherwise carousing. Tell your little gang that any more of those Capulet boys get hurt, I'm holding you personally responsible. You can keep the apartment, but I expect it to be clean, well-cared for, and empty of bad influences. Do you understand?"

"I'm twenty-five years old. I can take care of myself."

"You are also the heir to the most influential dynasty in the country. You have more power now, when you are nothing and nobody, than the king himself has. If you do not get your act together, marry, have children, you will single-handedly bring down the most powerful empire this state has seen since the time of the gods." Jonathan took a step back. "You have a choice. Wreck your country, or be responsible for once in your life. What's it going to be?"

Rick knew enough not to answer, or else something would come out of his mouth that he knew both of them would regret. 

As Jonathan turned and stalked from the room, he couldn't have known that he would never speak to his son again. Otherwise, he might have taken a little more care with their last conversation. 

~*~*~*~

The Buffster enjoys reviews of any stripe. Please leave one. :)


	6. Five: Save the Last Dance

5. Save the Last Dance

Purple and yellow balloons nearly covered the dance floor, while matching streamers lined the walls and chandeliers burned brightly with the help of a million tiny little candles. Evelyn had brought her own dress from school, though she'd had to sneak it past her father's servants, who certainly would have disapproved. It was black to match the plain face mask she wore, off one shoulder and cinched tightly up the side, which gave way to a dramatic diagonal hem that floated nearly to the floor. It seemed to be having a good effect on most of the young men in the ballroom, though one Evelyn would have just as readily have gone without. 

Evelyn groaned inwardly at the thought of dancing with an endless stream of pathetic young suitors who had only the thought of her title in mind. And, perhaps, the privilege that came with being the last to dance with any lady in attendance. It was an old Capulet tradition, but one that Evelyn knew she would banish when she ruled, for the agony it placed on her was acute. For as long as anyone living could remember, the young man who filled the last spot on a lady's dance card was awarded with a kiss. 

Her only hope, indeed, her most desperate wish, was that perhaps those blue eyes would be in attendance. But first, she had to contend with Beni Parris. 

"Really, I run the show," he was saying in that sniveling little voice of his. "My father doesn't have too many marbles up here anymore," he said, tapping his head. "Know what I mean?"

Evelyn realized she felt the urge to scream, and quickly turned the impulse into a sigh, but a discreet one. "You couldn't be clearer, Mr. Parris."

"Please." He leaned forward, displaying each and every one of his yellowed teeth beneath the red mask that covered the upper half of his face. "Call me Beni."

She fought a shudder to think of what the rest of his face must look like minus the mask. "I, uh, I wonder if you might get me some punch? I'm dying of thirst."

Beni nodded eagerly and scurried off in search of refreshment for the princess. _Finally, rid of him!_ she congratulated herself. Now, if only she could _keep_ avoiding him until she could get out of here. Her only regret for the evening (besides being forced to spend it with Beni Parris) was that she had not spotted that charming face which had so haunted her since that morning...

The band began to play again, Evelyn's heart sank as she realized it was the last song. As she looked up she saw Beni, who had spotted her in the crowd and was making a beeline for her. Trying not to seem too conspicuous, but desperate to get away, she wove her way through the various couples that packed the dance floor, hoping to lose Beni in the chaos. After a few moment she chanced a look behind her. He was still following her!

In Evelyn's distraction she did not notice the man beside her until he'd swept her from the sidelines and onto the dance floor. Any thoughts of Beni Parris were immediately lost as she met his eyes. The sight of her dance partner took her breath away. 

He wore a white mask, but she'd know those eyes anywhere. Two sapphire gems gleamed from behind the whiteness of the mask, and they twinkled as they had something mischievous in mind. 

"You seem to be much sought after as a dance partner tonight," he said, and she fell immediately in love with the sound of his voice. 

"Not me. My name."

He twirled her away for a moment, and when she stepped back to his embrace she found herself quite a bit closer to him. "Then I shall not ask it," he said, "for your very presence is close enough to heaven for a mere mortal."

While normally Evelyn might have been put off by the man's forwardness, she found herself too lost in that enchanting smile to care. And even better, he didn't know who she was, or claimed he did not. The very thought that someone might be interested in _her_ rather than her father...

Evelyn's very next thought was that he filled the last spot on her dance card, and that at the dance's end...

Whoever he was, he was an excellent dancer, and though Evelyn had always felt somewhat clumsy on the dance floor, tonight she felt as though she were dancing through the sky. As he held her close, Evelyn attempted to memorize everything about the man. His eyes were easy enough, though the fleeting glimpse she'd had that afternoon of his entire face had been entirely too brief. His hair was a delicious golden color and held a faint hint of some fragrance she could not quite pin. He was quite a bit taller than her, but enveloped in his strong embrace Evelyn had the sensation of feeling completely safe, as if no harm could come to her whilst in his arms. As a costume he had chosen to dress all in white, which might have looked ridiculous on any other man, but somehow it only fueled Evelyn's imagination. Her white knight, come to save her from a dreary royal existence...

The last strains of the song echoed all throughout the ballroom. Evelyn's dance partner pulled her away from the crowd as they applauded the band. He wove his way through decorations and pillars till they stood in a shadowy corner. The distant noise of the crowd seemed muted as they stood removed from the reality of the dance floor. 

"I believe it is an old tradition in this house," he said, "that the last gentleman on a lady's dance card is rewarded with a kiss."

"Will you claim your prize, then?" she asked, her head suddenly spinning with the faint feel of his hands as they caressed her face. 

"How can I claim a goddess such as yourself as my own, when I don't even have the courage to ask your name?"

"Then I give you permission, so you will not feel guilty about such a trivial thing as a single kiss."

"Trivial?" His smile was somehow softer as he continued to hold her gaze, and something in his own look sent chills up her spine. "How can it be trivial when I fear it may be my doom?"

"Let's find out, shall we?"

Permission granted, gentle fingers pulled her mask up and over her face, and she did the same to him. Disguises discarded, they were finally free to regard the faces which had so tormented each of them since that first fateful glimpse. Then, instead of the customary kiss on the cheek, he leaned forward and placed his lips on hers, first hesitantly, then with more resolve as neither party seemed to have any objections to the direction the kiss was going. 

Rick was sure he had to be dreaming. This just didn't happen, to him of all people. Of course, once she found out who he actually was, she'd run screaming the other way if she had any sense. If she did stick around, it would only be because of the money, because of the status; it would have nothing to do with him. He knew this, and yet he had never felt so adamantly that he had to be wrong. Not this girl, she had to be different, she _was_ different...

"Evelyn!" someone yelled from above their heads, and the girl leapt away from him as if she'd been burned. 

"Oh, I, I have to go," she stammered. "I'm sorry."

_Evelyn? Wait... _"Evelyn? Is that your name, Evelyn?..."

She looked as though she were deciding the wisdom of answering this question when the call came again, closer this time. "Evelyn! Get up here!"

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I have to go." Despite her words, however, she kissed him once more, crushing her body against his in a last ditch effort to make a moment last, for she knew she'd probably never see him again. She finally broke the kiss, but he held on to her, refusing to her go. 

"Your name is Evelyn?" he asked. Around the eyes, she almost looked like...

"Yes." 

What he suspected was now concrete fact, and the knowledge made it hard to breathe. Imagine, the son of Jonathan Montague in love with a Capulet princess. It couldn't happen. "I'm never going to see you again, am I?"

Evelyn slowly shook her head, no. "I can't. I'm sorry." She drew out his arms reluctantly, regretfully, held there by those blue eyes and the conviction in them. "I'm sorry," she repeated, then turned and ran pell-mell for the stairway before she changed her mind. 

At the top of the stairs Evelyn nearly ran into her cousin. Lock was a tall, imposing figure with muscles that rippled underneath his skin tight, revealing costume, curiously matched for the evening with a red turban. His character was disreputable to say the least, but Evelyn's father had always trusted him, and had always counted on Lock to look after his little girl. 

"Lock!" Evelyn cried. "Where have you been?"

He began to pull her down the hallway and away from the general party. "What is wrong with you?" he hissed, shaking her arm more roughly than he had the right to. The combination of Lock's unusual behavior and her experiences that evening had dazed Evelyn enough that she could not reply for the life of her. Lock continued, "I saw you dancing with that Montague kid, Evelyn."

Though her mind was still distraught with thoughts of her mysterious dance partner, Evelyn was confused enough at Lock's statement to answer this time. "Montague? Why would a Montague be here? I didn't dance with--"

"I want you to stay away from him. He's dangerous. You are never to go near Rick Montague again, do you hear me?"

While some part of her would have liked to protest to her cousin's superiority complex, she was too busy putting the pieces together in her head. The man's disbelief at the revelation of her name, the horrible light of realization in his eyes... Her dance partner, her knight in shining armor, he was a Montague. And not just any Montague. Rick Montague, heir to the Montague empire and son of her father's worst enemy. Perhaps the only thing worse would be to shoot her father in the head, for that death would be much quicker than the broken heart he would suffer if he learned of her actions. She had betrayed her father and her family and she could never see Rick Montague again...

But it didn't matter who he was. It only mattered that she loved him. 

~*~*~*~

Reviews: More:):):)


	7. Six: For Crying in the Night

6. For Crying in the Night

As the party wound down, the faction of Montagues made a quick exit through the kitchens, making sure to avoid Lock as they went. The moment they were off the palace grounds, most of the gang collapsed in nearby bushes. The alcohol the royal family was used to was a bit much for the common stomach, and Burns and Henderson had of course decided to consume as much of it as possible. 

Rick contemplated his friends' states for a minute before turning and beginning to make for the anonymity of the night. "I gotta go, guys."

Izzy called out to him before he was completely out of earshot. "Hey Rick, who was that chick you were dancing with? The one in the very nice black dress?"

Ardeth whistled, concurring with Izzy's judgment. "Hoo boy, that dress did fit particularly well, didn't it?"

"Not another word, Bey!" cried Rick, temper flaring through his already very thin patience. 

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Rick whirled to face his friends, throwing up his hands. "I'm in love!" 

"Oh." Ardeth scratched his chin. "I don't know what to say. I suppose congratulations are in order. Let's throw a party. Let's wake up the whole damn city and inform them that yes, oh yes, Richard Montague is in love!"

"While your sarcasm is appreciated, it is really not what I need right now." 

"Osiris forbid!" cried Ardeth, falling to his knees in mocking. "How dare I insult the great Richard Montague, son of the almighty prime minister. There must be a law against that, don't you think, Izzy?"

Izzy nodded. "Yep, I'm sure of it. We should make a citizen's arrest."

"Just stop it, guys. I'm serious. This girl is..." Rick paused, at a lack for words where moments before articulacy had flowed. He looked at the black mask he still clutched in his hand. "Perfect."

"Huh. Not everyday you find one of those." Ardeth clapped Rick on the back overenthusiastically. "What do you say to a round to toast your newfound love?"

"You'd get thrown out of the bar."

"No, that's usually _your_ specialty, my friend."

Rick shook his head. "No. Toasting Capulets in a Montague-affiliated bar is probably hazardous to one's health."

"She's a Capulet?" Realization dawned on Ardeth, and he began to laugh. "Oh, no. That girl from the limo? Her?"

"Her." Rick again turned and began walking away, oblivious now to his friends' calls. He went in the direction of the main road, but as soon as he was out of sight, he made a sharp left and circled the tall iron fence that surrounded the palace. He walked for nearly thirty minutes, the grounds were that large, but finally found what he was looking for. 

A garden, overflowing through its wrought-iron confines. Rick glanced around for security cameras or anything of the like, and finding none, quickly scaled the fence...

...and came crashing down to earth in a roar of cracking branches and crunching foliage. After a moment, when he had determined that he had neither broken bones nor alerted the attention of the entire palace, he picked himself up and began to quietly make his way through the shrubbery. The huge garden afforded him plenty of time to think, but most of his thoughts veered toward the very depressing. This was never going to work. If he didn't get tackled by the palace guard first, he would get lost in this vast garden and die a horrible lonely death and never see her again anyway. Even if he did somehow find her...

Rick caught sight of a second floor window and suddenly his thoughts became much more cheerful. She ran a brush through her hair, absentmindedly combing her fingers through the locks. Why had she felt the need for all that fancy make-up when without it she appeared to be the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen? Yes, the black dress had been undeniably well-fitting, but in pajamas she moved more gracefully, less self-consciously. She walked like she was just herself. She didn't know someone was watching her. 

Evelyn threw the brush onto the dressing table with a clatter and suddenly seemed set on tearing about her room for no particular reason. She paced back and forth for several moments, then, growing tired of this, flung open the doors to her balcony and stepped into the cool night air. Rick leapt behind a thicket of particularly dense ivy to avoid being seen, wondering if...perhaps....just maybe....she was thinking about him, too. 

Up on the balcony, a beloved young princess gripped the railings with white-knuckled hands. She half-heartedly considered throwing herself off, but after a moment's contemplation decided that would just be counter-productive. 

Free of makeup, dressed in her most comfortable pajamas, she felt like Evelyn. Just Evelyn. Of course, she was more conflicted than she usually was. She turned from the inky black view dotted only with the sparse light of tiny stars and wandered back into the warmth of her room. A white mask lay forlornly on the trunk at the foot of her canopy bed. Evelyn picked it up and turned it through her fingers. Nothing special, just a regular dollar store party mask, the fiber slightly frayed around the edges and the string nearly shot. When she looked at the mask, she could see his face. She could see his eyes, burning blue, guiding her through a life in which all other corners had darkened. 

Evelyn had heard the stories, of course. Rick Montague, sole man involved in the Hamunaptra political system who was not trapped under the prime minister's thumb. A rebel, a troublemaker, a menace to the community. He drank, dated numerous notorious women, and ran around town with gun-toting gang-member friends. She'd heard stories about murders, pregnant girlfriends, shady business deals, drugs. She'd heard it all, and she'd never seen his face. 

Now, somehow, she knew without a doubt that none of it was true. Well, probably some of it was true, maybe even most of it, but in his eyes she had found the real truth. He was a good man, she was sure of it. Everyone did things they regretted, everyone acted out from time to time. Except maybe Evelyn, who hard as she tried could not really remember doing anything wrong in her entire life. 

Until tonight. 

She'd listened patiently as her father explained the importance of the masque, of the necessity to make a good first impression on the Duke's son. She'd stood there for hours making the most uncomfortable small talk of her life with a man she despised upon first sight. She'd even let him dance with her a few times. Her father's words just kept ringing in her ears, over and over when she'd wanted to bolt...

"An alliance with the Parrises will reestablish the Capulet family as the true rulers of Hamunaptra," intoned the king. "Once we regain the power of the days of old, the Montagues will have nowhere to turn. We'll run them out of New Verona, once and for all."

Aaargh! That _name_!!! If not for _that_ name, and if not for _her_ name, right now she could be happily and willingly announcing her engagement to her mysterious dance partner, no longer so mysterious but now doubly tempting. A man whose only sin was being born into a family that had hated hers for ancient, manifold, albeit now forgotten, reasons. 

Speaking of sinning, she was sure if she told anyone about the misguided make-out session that evening, she'd be in more trouble than was possible even for Rick. Thank Osiris that Lock had only seen them dancing. Rick would probably be dead by now if Lock had caught him making a move on his darling, innocent, naive cousin Evy. 

Darling, innocent, naive?!?! Nobody knew who she was, not at all! Nobody except her mother, and now Anck would be forever silent at her daughter's pleas for advice, lost somewhere in the great forbidding beyond of the afterlife. Imhotep came close to being her only true friend, but it was rare that he ever had much time for her. Basically she was utterly, completely alone...

Except for a few precious moments that evening, when Rick Montague had looked into her eyes. In those moments she had felt as though they were the only two people there. The way he looked at her made her feel that she was the most important person in the world, loved for all time with a single word, like he needed her as much as she needed him. Loved. There was no other word for it. 

Evelyn threw the mask to the floor, disgusted with herself. She was basing her entire life's happiness on a silly scrap of fabric, picking out curtains based on a simple glance, a simple touch, a simple kiss. Even if her dream hadn't been impossible, who was she to know what he thought of her? Upon learning of her identity, whatever love or lust he had felt would surely vanish in the face of common sense. And if he had none of that, only bravado and conceit, if the stories were true, then she wanted nothing to do with him. 

Her first love, so what? A fleeting romance she could remember fondly in fifty years, wondering whatever happened to that charming young man who had stolen her heart with a dance. Her first heartbreak. Her first wake-up call. This was how the real world worked; people did not marry for love, only money and title. Love was a myth, an ephemeral fantasy in the minds of young people who hadn't yet been taught life's cruel lessons. 

And what a cruel lesson it was. For though in her mind she strived to forget him, to chalk it up to girlhood whimsy given way to harsh reality, in her heart stirred an emotion so frenzied it scared her...

She'd die without him, she was sure of it. If she could not have him, the world stopped. And she knew, in her heart, he felt the exact same way about her. 

~*~*~*~


	8. Seven: Permission to Engage the Enemy

7. Permission to Engage the Enemy

Finally the princess couldn't stand the stuffy confines of her room anymore and decided to take a walk to calm her head. The air was chilly and immediately Evelyn regretted not grabbing a sweater before she'd gone outside, but she was much to agitated to be cooped up for one more moment, and so continued forth from her suite and into the gardens below. In four years they had certainly changed; all the plants now grew higher than the princess and the roses and sweet pea intertwined with the ivy endlessly in and out of lofty decorative trellises. An occasional ancient-looking fountain filled with musically flowing water broke the rhythm of the flowers and trees that had nearly overgrown the winding stone pathways. If was not careful, Evelyn could have very easily gotten lost in the vast garden, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She would much rather be swallowed whole in this abyss of beauty than face the cold reality of the palace. 

A rustling sound floated gently from the bushes behind her, and despite its innocuous tone Evelyn spun around in flight. What if she really _did_ get lost back here? What if some psycho murderer mental-ward escapee had been hiding out in the trees and decided he didn't like the company? Her imagination ran wild with possibilities, though nothing could have prepared her for the figure that emerged from behind the towering tangle of red roses and into her line of sight...

He stepped from behind the bush and suddenly he could see her again, standing there absolutely terrified at his sudden appearance, infinitely more beautiful than he had ever before encountered her. Her face softened as she took him in, recognized who this stranger was, and he could see the play of conflicting emotions reflected on her face as surely as they were racing through his own heart. Was he wrong to think that maybe, just maybe, someone like her might love him back? Was it even possible to dream of such a world where a Montague and a Capulet could get away with so much as a friendship without the rest of their kin tearing them to pieces? Could love really conquer such an obstacle?...

Tall, confident, dressed all in white, he held a black scrap of fabric in one hand and a rose in the other. "I know I'm not supposed to be here," he said, "but I couldn't--"

Rick Montague had no time to finish the sentence, whatever he had intended to say, for Evelyn Capulet had taken his appearance as a sign of destiny and flown into his arms without a second thought. For all intents and purposes the ensuing kiss was turning out to be rather perfect, so he was quite taken aback when she suddenly averted her lips from his and leapt away from his embrace. "Damn it!" she cried. "This is not going well."

"I thought that went amazingly, actually, but if you'd like to try it again--"

"No, that's not it! It's just...I don't even know you, and I'm falling into your arms like I'm a lovesick schoolgirl."

"Well, aren't you?"

Evelyn drew herself tall, mildly insulted. "As a matter of fact, _sir_, I am most certainly not a schoolgirl. I just earned an honors bachelor of arts from Cairo University at--"  
"I meant the other part."

"Which other part?"

He paused, tricking her with the silence. In the space he placed another soft kiss upon her lips. "Aren't you in love with me?"

She frowned, but didn't draw away from him again. "I don't know you."

"How do you know they're the same thing?"

"They have to be," she maintained, her weak defense quickly melting under his gaze. "You can't be in love without knowing a thing about the other person. What if you smoked or something?"

"I don't."

"Good. I could never love a man who smoked." She thought for a bit. "Do you drink?"

"A little."

"I figured. When was the last time you were drunk?"

Deceit or honesty? Lying to the only woman you'd ever really loved was probably not a good idea only hours after you've met. Rick decided to plunge. "Last night. I was arrested for disturbing the peace. Got into a bar fight with a little weasel named Parris."

Instead of the horror he'd expected his candor to elicit, Evelyn instead burst into laughter. "By any chance was his name Beni?"

"Maybe. Why, do you know him?"

"Yes, he's my--" Evelyn stopped short before she defined their relationship, or what hideous caricature of a courtship that had been forced upon them. "Let's just say I commend you for whatever injury you inflicted on the blasted man, though I'd appreciate it if you'd stay away from bar fights as long as you know me."

"I plan on knowing you for the rest of my life, Evelyn, so I can't promise that my presence will never grace another bar. But I promise the only fight I will ever instigate will be to pay back that horrible excuse for a man for whatever he did to you."

"Don't make promises. They just get messy later."

"Such a world-weary view for a lady so young."

Evelyn sighed, stepping away from Rick and into a pool of light cast by a nearby garden lamp. "Nobody's ever cared about anything but my name. It makes it difficult to form any sort of relationship with anyone."

Rick had to blink to make sure he had not fallen asleep, for her beauty under the soft light of the garden lamp was almost ethereal. "No, milady, your name is my curse. If I could I would strip you of your title and make you a beggar, just so you could be mine."

"You speak of your own gain. But what of me? What would I gain from such a match?"

He laughed as though the answer was obvious. "Me!"

Her mouth fell open. "How vain of you!"

"Perhaps, for I am only a mortal, and I seek the favor of a goddess."

Evelyn stepped around a trellis, only allowing herself to look at him through the holes in the ivy. "Please don't talk like that."

"Like what?"

"Look, I've heard it all. Every prince, every duke, every politician in the world has spouted endless words and poetry and promises at me just so they can get to my father. Such professions of love have lost their charm."

He peered around the edge of the latticework. "But nobody's ever meant it before."

The sincerity in his eyes threw her off course, and she darted away from him again, coming to rest finally on a nearby bench. "My title is what draws people to me. It is the only thing I have."

He sat cautiously on the other side of the bench, afraid she might shy away again if he so much as brushed against her. "That cannot be true. You're your own person. Only you can decide what you do and don't have."

She almost laughed. "Such profound thought I did not expect from you, Richard Montague."

It was now Rick's turn to be mildly insulted, though he hid it under a veil of sarcasm. "See! You don't know me, either. I bet you think I'm a complete scoundrel, and where did you get that perception from? The tabloids? If we are to believe the tabloids, my princess, you are an untouchable angel, marred only by an unfortunate connection to the political world. They seem to think you're perfect."

"I thought you thought the same."

He shook his head. "Nobody's perfect. Besides, that's not what you want to hear. I think you're a little standoffish, to tell you the truth. You don't let anyone get close to you, do you? Why not?"

"The truth? All right. Let's see. _If_ we are to believe the tabloids, you are indolent, untrustworthy, and fickle. " Evelyn stood, ticking off points on her fingers. "You've had more girlfriends than there are women living in the capital, and you've been involved with but never been an official suspect in more felonies than I can add in my head. All in all, offhand I'd say you _are_ a bit of a scoundrel, wouldn't you?"

He didn't seem to react other than to speak calmly at the bench where she had lately sat. "None of it's true, you know," he said softly. 

"For all I know, it might be."

He stood, too, straightening the lapels of his jacket. "You want me to leave."

"No!" she cried, surprised at the fervor of his own voice. "Never leave," she continued, quieter. "I couldn't bear it."

He swept her over the bench and into his arms once more, nearly smothering her with kisses. "You won't have to," he said between breaths. "We'll always be together, I promise you that. I pledge to you my heart, my life, my soul."

She drew back, sure her ears were deceiving her. "Did you just say what I think you said?"

He laughed, setting her down on the bench and kneeling in front of her. "I would not say it if I did not mean it. I love you, I love you, I love you beyond anything I ever thought possible."

Evelyn fought to suppress the giddiness encroaching her senses and tried to come at the situation from a legitimate, levelheaded angle. "And how do I know this is not just a scheme to rob me of my virtue?"

"Because, dearest Evelyn," he replied, kissing her hand, "I have never before spoken those words out loud. Only somewhere deep within my imagination, where everyone dreams of meeting a person so wonderful and beautiful and perfect that they might even call them a soul-mate. Hardly any of us are that lucky, especially a man as unworthy as I."

"Words are just words, anyone can speak them."

"And yet here I stand--well, kneel--before you, making what most others would call a foolish mistake, but what I call the best thing that's ever happened to me. Because you see, my princess, my Evelyn, you love me, too. A thousand deaths I would gladly accept if it meant I could hear you say it once."

"Well, then, Rick, I must disappoint you." His distress was evident on his face, but instead of the departure he expected, she instead slid down to his level, practically into his lap, and placed her arms around him. "For I plan on saying it for the rest of my life, which would certainly be quite short if you took on those thousand deaths you speak of."

He rested his forehead against hers, relief washing over him. "I thought you meant to refuse me."

"No. I love you, Richard Montague, and I don't care about your name and I don't care about your past. I only care about _you_, and you're absolutely perfect. I love you."

"And I love you, my Evelyn, my Evy, my... Wait, wait, we have to do this right. Sit back on the bench."

Evelyn obeyed, and he remained kneeling in front of her, grasping her hands. "Ask me, then."

"As you wish, my lady." He bowed his head slightly, then his eyes met hers and held them. "I love you. Will you marry me?"

The simplicity of his words almost brought tears to her eyes. It was better than any flowery proclamation or extravagant scheme that any poet could have come up with. It was just the truth. No one had ever told her the truth before. "Yes. My life depends on it."

Upon her acceptance she fell into his embrace again and a long period of silence commenced, though this was more due to the fact that they were too busy kissing to bother with formalities of speech. After this had gone on for quite some time, they both felt they'd better end the increasingly impassioned make-out session before Evelyn's virtue really was too far gone. As soon as she'd had a chance to catch her breath, Evelyn remarked, "Our families are going to be horrified."

"I know. Should you tell them or should I?"

"Don't joke, Rick, this is serious. My father will have you assassinated and your father will have me excommunicated. They'll hate each other even more. It'll kill them."

"They'll just have to deal with it." Rick busied himself with playing with his fiancé's hair, already appreciating the instant familiarity that they'd somehow developed. "I don't care about _my_ father; I don't care about _your_ father; I only care about _us_. I'm going to make you happy, Evelyn, know that. All that matters is you, and I. Nothing outside of that is going to change what we feel for each other."

She kissed him again before responding, the combination of his words and the proximity of his lips too much to resist. "You can't be king, you know. I'll have to rule by myself."

"I know. And you'll be great at it."

"Not to be pushy, but when?"

"When what?"

"When are you going to marry me?" 

He thought for only a fraction of a second before answering. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow!" she cried, a little shocked in spite of herself. "That's no time to get a wedding together!"

"What else do you need besides a church and a priest? Imhotep can perform the ceremony."

"He'll never believe you. Here." Evelyn reached around her neck and unhooked the clasp of the locket, placing around Rick's neck as she spoke. "Show him this, as evidence of our intent."

"He'll probably think I've murdered you or something." 

Evelyn laughed. "Yes, probably. I've never taken it off before."

Rick paused. "Why for me?"

"I trust you. Wait! What about a dress? I need a wedding dress."

"I'm sure in that enormous closet of yours you can find a white dress of some sort."

"How do you know my closet is enormous?"

"I saw a special on _Fashionable Verona_." 

"That's not fair. You've seen my closets and I haven't a _clue_ how you live."

"I guess you'll find out." He kissed her before she could protest again and pulled her to her feet. "If I stay much longer they'll wonder where you've run off to."

"You're leaving?" Her face wore a mask of such disappointment that Rick would have reversed his words on the spot if he'd thought staying any longer wouldn't get him killed. "You've only just arrived."

"Can you get away tomorrow?"

"To marry you?" She grinned. "Absolutely. I'll tell them I've gone to talk to Father Imhotep. I used to spend all my Saturdays there, when I was younger."

"Never a Saturday like this."

"I'm sure. What time?"

"Two o'clock. Before evening mass, after the lunch crowd."

"I can't wait. I love you."

He kissed her one last time, savoring the perfection of the moment and praying to Osiris that many more would come over the course of their lifetimes. He did not stop to think that it was strange he should feel emotions so intensely for a girl he'd only met two hours ago. It felt right, truer than anything else he'd ever said or done in his life. Reluctantly he broke the kiss, whispered, "I love you, my Evelyn," and scurried off into the darkness of the surrounding garden before he completely lost his sanity. 

As night enveloped her betrothed's retreating form, Evelyn looked up at the stars. A shooting star flickered across the sky, caught only in the corner of her eye but burned in her memory for all time. A good luck charm, an omen of blessing from the gods above. A perfect ending to a perfect night. She prayed that all the days of her life would be equally as wonderful, and knew that as long as Rick was in them, they would be. 

~*~*~*~

r e v i e w :):):)


	9. Eight: Sanctuary, Sanctuary

8. Sanctuary, Sanctuary

While morning light did nothing to douse the flame of love, it did throw a few hundred new doubts upon Rick's mind. What if he couldn't convince Imhotep to help them? What if the priest didn't believe him? What if someone found out? What if Evelyn changed her mind? What if what if what if???...

Rick banished these thoughts from his mind and rapped on the door frame of Imhotep's office. "Good day, my dear Father Imhotep. I am in need of a priest."

"Are you?" asked Imhotep, paying more attention to the work on his desk than the young man at his door. "And pray tell, why is that?"

"Well you see, I'm getting married today."

If Imhotep hadn't thought it was a joke, his jaw would have dropped to the floor, but knowing Rick as he did, he simply continued to write. "Who is the lucky lady, then?"

"I'm serious. Are you going to help me or not?"

Imhotep sighed, putting his pen down. "You're not getting involved with Rosaline again, are you? I've told you--"

"No!" Rick took a seat across from the priest. "Thank Osiris, no. I can't even imagine that freak show of a relationship going anywhere good. But this is the real thing. We're in love, and we need your help."

"'We?' Who are we talking about here?"

"Suffice it to say that our families would have issues with it."

Imhotep rolled his eyes, sensing trouble. "She's a Capulet?"

"Yes. But we don't see it as a problem. Really, it's an opportunity."

"I feel a nightmare coming on."

Rick deliberately ignored the sarcasm and continued with his speech. "Let me lay it out for you. We get married. We can't tell our families, they'd never agree to it offhand."

Imhotep was beginning to get a little suspicious. "How far up is this girl?"

"Let's just say she's a beloved part of the Capulet empire. Anyway, with your help, we very gently break the news, and, again with your help, facilitate some sort of compromise between the families. They'll have no choice but to form some sort of truce, even if it's not entirely heartfelt, but in time--"

"What are you thinking?" interrupted Imhotep. "There's no way that the Montagues and the Capulets will reconcile just because _you're_ marrying some distant cousin or something. You know that scenario's not even remotely possible, not even if you were marrying...I don't know, Evelyn Capulet! And who is this foolish girl that would agree to such a thing?"

Rick reached underneath his shirt, drawing out a chain. He unhooked the clasp and slid the locket across the desk to Imhotep. "Good guess, Father Imhotep."

Confusion flicked across the priest's face. He picked up the locket, recognizing it instantly as Anck's, the one she'd given Evelyn years ago. "I don't understand..." All sound died in Imhotep's throat as the implications sunk in. In the next moment, however, came anger. _Lots_ of anger. "No!" he cried. "No, no, no, no, no, no. There's no way I'm letting you marry Evelyn."

Rick was taken aback by the strength of his friend's reaction. "Why not?"

"For one thing, you don't deserve her."

"Agreed. What else?"

"I..." Imhotep hadn't expected concurrence on that point. For the life of him, no other reasons came that he could voice to Rick. He decided to try a different tactic. "So you just met her, what...yesterday? And by some strange twist of logic, you both think you're in love?"

"Yep. Not much more to tell, you hit it on the head."

"Richard." Imhotep gave him a warning look, making Rick feel slightly like an ashamed little kid again. "Level with me. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Suddenly Rick didn't feel so ashamed. He _did_ know exactly what he was doing. "Yesterday I met this girl. Not only is she beautiful and intelligent and brave, it turns out she's the one person in the entire world I couldn't live without. I know it seems silly to only know someone for a few hours and _know_ that it couldn't be more perfect... But how silly is it, really? It's love. There's nothing else that needs to be explained. It's just love." 

Imhotep sat back, the young man's words having a strange effect on him. Evelyn's words from yesterday floated back to him...

_"How do you know if you're in love?"_

Osiris, she was in love with him, too. How could such an impossibility come to pass? Rick Montague and Evelyn Capulet??? Imhotep could not think of a more mismatched couple...

But why? Was it simply because of their names? If they'd just been Rick and Evelyn... Both strong-willed, intelligent, capable individuals... Come to think of it, he happened to know that they shared a love for historical fiction and swing music. Imhotep smiled. He wondered if they knew that.

"Um, Imhotep?" said Rick. "You haven't said anything for about five minutes..."

The priest came to a decision. "When?"

"What?"

Imhotep took a deep breath, fear filling his heart for the two young people, but simultaneously... This could be it. This could make everything right again, where a city had lived in silent misery for so long. "Name the time. I'll be there."

The ceremony was simple, because Imhotep could only close off the main temple for so long before people got suspicious. The newly blessed couple couldn't have cared less what the priest said, however, as long as they were married. Neither of them really remembered the ceremony afterward, for they had already developed that annoying habit of staring soulfully into each other's eyes whilst managing to block out everything else around them. This caused Imhotep to have to prompt them to repeat the proper lines more than once, which only annoyed him because they had to hurry. Once the ceremony was complete, he ushered them quickly into a back room to sign paperwork. 

"I do hope you two know what you're doing," he said, watching Evy affix her small, neat signature to the page. "You realize I can only protect you to a certain extent."

"We're not going to hide in the temple for the rest of our lives," said Evelyn, passing the pen to Rick. As their hands brushed against one another, a little tingle ran through her fingers, causing her to nearly forget what she was talking about. "Um...I mean, we're going to tell them, sooner or later."

"Preferably," added Rick, "enough _later_ that nobody gets killed or maimed in the process."

"Don't be pessimistic, darling."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart."

He smiled, she smiled. Something passed between them at that moment, a single glance between two people in love, and as Imhotep observed it his heart was calmed somewhat. Just being in the presence of the pair was enough to see that there was, indeed, _something_ there. Imhotep supposed that it was up to them to make that _something_ succeed or fail, but...somehow, watching them, Imhotep knew that failure was not an option the two would consider. They were, as Rick had said earlier, quite simply and irrevocably in love. 

"And do you have plans as to how to break the news?" the priest asked, drawing the newlyweds out of each other's eyes and back into reality.

"Erm, well..." Rick trailed off. "We're working on that."

"One of our thoughts was that we could start off by calling some sort of joint summit," said Evelyn. "You know, just to get them talking."

"But Evelyn and I would co-sponsor it," added Rick. "To sort of test the waters, to show that the new generation wants to be cooperative."

"Right. And we could have a whole slate of events like that, and first get them used to the idea of Rick and I being at least friends."

"The media is key here. They'd gobble up a story like ours if they got a hold of it. We figure we let slip a few rumors. We get the media on our side, condition them to be our advocates."

"Then the public will be with us. Forbidden love and all that. If the public wants this truce to happen, then our families will have no choice but to follow public opinion, at least on the surface."

"Well," said Imhotep. "It sounds as though you've thought this out thoroughly. If it works out the way you imagine it will, it will be a miracle."

Evy sighed. "Ordinary couples don't have to go through all this hoopla. Everyone should be happy for us."

Rick took her hand, placing a light kiss upon it before speaking. "I'm happy."

Evelyn giggled, a highly unusual occurrence for her, but she was in love and she didn't care. "So am I." 

Something beeped rather urgently, the ring getting louder and louder before Rick tore his eyes away from Evelyn and, grumbling, checked his cell phone. "Didn't think I had it with me," he said in a distant sort of tone, standing. "Must be an emergency. I'll be back in two seconds."

Rick stepped out into the hallway, dread filling him. He'd told Izzy not to call unless news so horrible came along that delaying the telling of it would have catastrophic consequences. He dialed Izzy's number, and his friend picked up before it had even finished ringing once. 

"'Ello?" said Izzy. "O'Connell? O'Connell, you have to--"

"Shut up and calm down. What the hell is the matter?"

"You gotta get down here."

"This is kind of a bad day for me. Can't it wait?"

"No. Lock has issued a challenge."

Fabulous. The best day of his life and some psychopath had to come along and mess with it. "To who?"

"Any Montague who would answer. Guess who the idiot was that took Lock up?"

Rick closed his eyes, his stomach already sinking with certainty. "Bey."

"You got it. You gotta get here. Three o'clock, out on the old Alexander Highway by the Green. Most deadly game of 'chicken' there is."

"Just call the police, have them break it up. That'll send a Goddamn message."

"They're tied up on the other side of town, drug bust. Lock arranged it, he thought of everything. He's psycho, Rick. Ardeth's going to end up dead, he's not taking Lock seriously enough."

Evelyn's laugh floated out into the hallway, and Rick took a step to the right so he could see into the doorway. She and Imhotep sat talking at his desk, voices hushed. She'd never looked more beautiful than in this moment, when he had to leave her. Not even an hour they'd been married, and already their families had conspired to separate them. Rick vowed that if he came back alive, if they could just work this one day out, then they'd tell the whole world, lock themselves in the temple, and wait for the storm to pass. He wouldn't hide from anyone. He couldn't stand to leave her, and he never wanted to have to again. 

"Hold them off until I get there," he said to Izzy, and turned off the cell phone. All their grand plans for peace, and it came down to a lunatic with a grudge and a fast car. 

~*~*~*~*~

Starved for love on this one, guys. Come on, keep this fic going!!! :) 


	10. Nine: Breaking News

9. Breaking News

Something was wrong, she could see it in his face and the tight, tensed way he walked. "Who was that?" Evelyn asked as her husband stepped into the room.

Rick reached for her hand, bringing her to her feet. "Nobody. I need to talk to you."

He pulled her into the empty hallway. "What?" she asked. "Is something wrong?"

Rick nodded, then seemed to change his mind and shook his head with conviction. "Don't worry, sweetheart. It's nothing. I just...I have to go."

"But..."

"I'll be back as soon as I can. Things could go really bad if I'm not there."

"Tell me."

"I can't--"

"Rick." She looked him straight in the eye, unblinking. "Tell me."

He could see in her face that she already knew, but that didn't make saying it any easier. "It's Lock."

The future queen did an admirable job of keeping her walls from coming down, but the fact was she felt like bursting into tears and her husband knew it. "What's going to happen?"

"Don't worry, sweetheart, I'm just going to go down and get my guys out of there. We're just going to back off, I'm not about to get into anything with your cousins. That's the last thing I want."

"Good intentions don't always pan out."

"It's okay, I'll calm them down and--"

"What about you? What if they do something to you?"

"I'll be _fine_. Hey." He tipped up her chin, noting the tears that still lay dormant in her eyes. "We've got the rest of our lives to look forward to, right? We have to start with this diplomacy thing somewhere. Might as well start with Lock."

"Maybe if I came with you..."

Rick shook his head firmly. "No. That would just make things worse. I'll be right back, I promise."

Evelyn swallowed her fears once and for all and smiled, putting on the bravest face she knew. "I'll be waiting for you."

He kissed his wife goodbye, though the embrace was tinged by the bittersweet anxiety that he feared would follow them throughout their lives. "I won't be long. Don't worry, love. Everything is going to turn out okay."

Evelyn wished, as she watched him walk away, that she could believe those words. 

It is said that the camera does not lie. In an age where stories of UFOs and fairy folk are prevalent, a picture is worth a thousand words. This doesn't mean that every photograph is the pure and utter truth; photographers have for over a hundred years had the means to alter their art in any way they chose. The video camera brought on a whole other age, in which leaders had to live their lives in the public eye and the world could be captivated by reality TV. It so happened that on this particular day, a man named Jacques had brought along his new video camera, not knowing how his innocent documentation of his everyday life would affect the world's perception of what was about to happen. 

He was eager to try out his new electronic toy, and knew his boss Lock would probably not allow him to film what was to happen today, so Jacques had set the camera up on a knoll just above the green, adjacent to the whooshing noise of the bustling highway. He couldn't hear anything from up here, much less could the camera's microphones, but he was so enjoying practicing zooming in and out and fiddling with the focus that he barely noticed the arrival of the Capulets. 

They were without their leader, the camera noticed. Now Ardeth Bey led them, swaggering toward Lock and his gang with all the bravado and conceit befitting a doomed man. They had words, though the camera could not hear them. It was then that another car pulled up, and Rick Montague jumped out. Jacques saw this and zoomed in a little more. Montague got between Lock and Bey, speaking to the crowd in general as if he thought they'd listen to him. 

They didn't. The camera saw, though Montague didn't, the knife Lock hid in his right hand, the subtle way the muscles of his neck pulsed. The camera continued to record; Jacques' throat tightened as he carefully tracked the action. He knew he should turn off the camera, he had to, but he couldn't bring himself to stop taping the violent scene unfolding below him. A scuffle broke out, dust rose, and Montague once again placed himself between friend and foe. He shoved Lock away, who tripped in the sand as he went backward, crashing to the ground in a most ungraceful way. It didn't take him long, however, to leap to his feet and lunge at his enemy with renewed vigor. 

Montague ducked. Bey did not. 

The camera watched impassively as the man fell to his knees, took in the spread of blood against stark white, zoomed in on shaking hands. Montague caught him before he could fall completely helpless to the ground, and Jacques strained to hear their words. It all took only a few seconds, and the shiny new camera recorded death. 

Jacques realized he had nearly forgotten to breathe, and clutched at the camera to keep it steady as Montague stood, walked toward Lock with measured steps. Lock backed away, Montague kept coming. After a minute Lock gave up all pretenses and made for his car, which zoomed away in a shower of spinning wheels and flying sand. Montague leapt into his own car, pursued Lock with all the ferocity that the little white sports car could muster. 

The camera tracked them as they drove into the distance, turned right toward the highway, went out of sight. Even its weak speakers, however, picked up the explosion. A plume of smoke at first, and the camera saw it, followed by fire climbing into the sky, falling, dissipating. Then, blank, silent. 

Jacques turned the camera off. 

A few hours later Jonathan set the phone calmly down on the desk, not bothering to replace it in its cradle. His mind flowed slowly, smoothly, as he worked out what to do next. If the Capulet gang didn't find his son before the police did, he was as good as dead. If the police found him first, at best he'd be tossed in jail, and no amount of palm-greasing would get him out. At worst he'd be banished, flung from the city gates in a disgraceful heap, effectively ending the true Montague line until or if Sheila ever had a child. 

Jonathan wasn't sure he'd want to know what that child would turn out like, so it was probably a good thing that Sheila showed no motherly instincts. On the other hand, his only son was now effectively finished in all aspects of life, including the political arena. No way this sort of scandal would blow over, no. The king wouldn't take kindly to a Montague man murdering the princess' favorite cousin, that was certain. 

Jonathan reached for the television remote and flicked through the channels to his wife's station. Sure enough, there she was, blonde hair a little frazzled, effectively playing the part of barely-concealed grief over her stepson's predicament. His wife was a very good actress. The public would like her bravery. He'd have to thank her for that. 

Onscreen, Sheila was interviewing Chief Bey, who was clearly genuinely upset over the loss of his nephew. "What can you tell us about the accident scene?" she asked him, her normally smooth, catlike voice broken by a carefully placed hint of motherly tears. 

"We haven't completely reconstructed what happened," said Chief Bey, "and obviously the Capulets and Montagues have differing accounts."

"Do you have any suspects in the murders of Lock Capulet..." --here she lowered her voice in sympathy-- "...and your dear nephew, Ardeth Bey?"

The Chief's jaw clenched, and his words were grim. "We are seeking for questioning all men involved in the murder of my nephew. Rick Montague is wanted for the murder of Lock Capulet and for questioning in the other case as well."

"But," purred Sheila, her acting skills kicking in for lack of maternal instinct, "couldn't the car crash have been an accident? We have tape that shows--"

"No more questions at this time. Thank you, Mrs. Montague."

With that the chief turned and stalked away. Sheila, not used to being so abruptly left in the lurch by her interviewees, was silent for a moment before launching into another canned account of what had happened on the Green that day. "It is a sad day in Verona City," she said, pictures of the scene under her voiceover. "Two of the city's most respected sons are dead, and another prominent man is missing and wanted for murder. From what we've been able to piece together, early this afternoon a challenge was issued to the Montague family by Lock Capulet, the king's nephew. Chief Bey's nephew, Ardeth Bey, was apparently killed in the incident. Capulet was then chased, by car, by Richard Montague, a drive which resulted in a terrible crash that claimed the life of Capulet. Montague is apparently wanted for questioning, though clearly..." Sheila looked meaningfully at the camera. "Clearly, anyone who watches the tape will come to the inevitable conclusion that the incident _was_ an accident. It is important, in this dire time, that we not let family loyalty color our perceptions of this tragedy, and let the truth shine free and unobstructed."

Sheila then launched into a summary of the physical evidence of the crime scene, but Jonathan had tuned out. She'd done perfectly, perfectly. This was why he'd married the woman. The thing about Sheila was that people trusted her when they saw her on camera, implicitly, no questions asked. She said Rick was innocent and spouted off a bunch of flowery language about truth and life and liberty, and the people would believe her. The woman was a public relations genius. 

It had to work this time. If it didn't... Jonathan's son was a dead man. 

People have a way of ignoring what they think does not concern them, and at that moment Evelyn had no inkling of the ways in which her world was turning upside down. She hadn't seen the television news in days, and she was at the moment far too wrapped up in the debate between various pieces of lingerie to much care what was happening in the rest of the world. 

She had to admit, though, she was getting worried. It was now well past dinner, nearly five hours since Rick had left the temple. He'd said he wouldn't be long. Shouldn't he have called her, to let her know he was okay, and on his way, or in the hospital, or dying at the side of the road? Her cell phone had been off, and she could have kicked herself for not noticing earlier. What if something had happened to him? What if Lock had...

The room's phone jingled loudly, and she snatched it up. "Rick?"

But no, it was Imhotep, and he sounded bleak. "Why wasn't your phone on? Where are you? Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be okay? What's wrong?"

The priest paused. "Turn on the news, Evelyn."

Evelyn found the remote with shaky fingers and pressed "on." The images that greeted her nearly screamed at her even in the silence of mute button. Sheila Montague, uncharacteristically ruffled, barely holding her composure on camera as she reported at the scene of an accident. Two cars; a spectacular crash. A dead man; a wanted man. She placed the phone on the sofa beside and her and sunk down to the floor. The tears started soon after, but not even she could tell whether they were for her cousin or for...

Her husband. 

~*~*~*~


	11. Ten: Subtlety

Bit of a nod to Bazzie in this chap. He did, in my humble opinion, do a fine job with Bill's story :)

10: Subtlety

It had begun to rain, at first little patters against the window, then the full force of the clouds hit the city and drowned the streets. Evelyn had sat in front of the TV for a few hours, not answering Imhotep's calls, numbly watching the same footage over and over. Finally, she'd turned off the television, gathered her things, and taken a survey of the little room. It wasn't the honeymoon suite, for the Luhrmann Hotel was far too prominent to hide very well there. Vases of pink and yellow roses were scattered about the suite, and the rooms had a fuzzy romantic feel to them. It was a perfect little getaway, secluded, comfy. Or, it would have been perfect had she not been there alone. 

Evelyn made for the door with her bags, still not sure what she where she was going. She wouldn't go the palace. She had moved past her grief quickly and was now pissed as hell at her cousin, and if she went home she'd just have to play the part of sad little princess and listen to her father drone on about how Richard Montague would pay. But she couldn't stay here a moment longer, not alone, wondering what might have been if she and Rick hadn't been so wrong for each other. She could try to go find him, she could search the streets unsure of what she was looking for, but she knew it wouldn't do any good. He knew how to hide and never be found. When he wanted to be found, he'd find her. 

_If_ he wanted to be found. 

As Evelyn reached for the door handle her cell phone chirped a happy little tune, and the screen announced that the caller was Rick. She'd put a little digital heart next to his name. She pressed "accept" but didn't say anything at first. Finally, she choked the word from her mouth. "Rick?"

She could barely hear his answer. "Hi."

The single syllable flooded her mind with a million thoughts, none of which doubted him. "Rick, where are you?"

"You don't want to know."

"Yes, I do. Where are you?"

"You're going to call the cops. I'm going to tell my wife where I am and she's going to call the cops. Good for you, Evy, it's the right thing to do. Or I could just shoot myself right here and save your father the trouble of strangling me." 

"No! No, Rick, please just tell me where you are, I'm going to come get you--"

"And then what? Tell me that, Evelyn. This can't end well. This isn't a normal relationship. It's supposed to be our wedding night. Instead I kill your cousin. What kind of a life are we going to have? Tell me, what happens now?"

His words had the impact of rendering her brain completely helpless, and she could only manage a weak, "It wasn't your fault."

"How do you know? What, did you see it on television? Is that what they're saying?"

"No, I _know_ it." Suddenly she found her voice, drawing strength from his own vulnerability. He needed her right now. "I know it's not your fault. I know what Lock was. I know _you_."

"You don't know me. You've said it a hundred times. You have no idea."

"Yes I do." She swallowed the sob that choked her words, concentrating on the presence at the other end of the line. "I love you. I don't care about anything else. I love you. That's all I ever need to know. I know it wasn't your fault, I know you wouldn't have done anything like this if you'd... Look, Rick, I saw the tape, okay? Anybody with eyes can see what happened. But I don't even need to know that. I love you. I don't care, I love you. _This_ is what happens now, okay? You tell me where you are, I will come get you, we get out of this city, and we figure this out. Together. Okay? Please, just tell me where you are."

Silence, lasting merely seconds, seemed to stretch into eternity as she waited for his reply, holding on to the faint scratchy sound of his breathing. "Evy..." he said finally, "open the door."

The cell phone slipped from her fingers, forgotten as it fell to the floor and bounced on the hard tiles. She threw open the door, and there he stood, cell phone to his ear, soaking wet and covered in cold mud, looking for all the world as if he was dead. His eyes asked her for forgiveness, begged, but in Evelyn's mind there was nothing to forgive. Only a moment passed between them, but in that moment a million things were said, a million lives lived. 

Evelyn pulled him inside and locked the door, pried the cell phone from cold fingers and set it down. "I'm all muddy," he said, but she smiled and kissed him anyway, immediately washing away his vague logic as he kissed her back, pulled her closer, forgetting completely anything but the taste of her and the feel of her against him. Wet clothes were peeled away, piled and forgotten in the foyer in a muddy mess. Rick picked up his bride, light as a feather in his arms, and she wrapped herself around him, kissing him all the while as if she intended never to let him breathe again. 

They sunk into the fluffiness of the bed, shedding more garments all the while. His skin was still chilled and almost damp from wandering in the storm outside, and the sensation of cold nearly made her gasp. She warmed him, massaged his icy skin, breathing life back into his frozen body. Her kisses set off little trails of fire in his skin everywhere her mouth dared to roam. He explored her, too, sprinkling kisses down her throat, hands wandering timidly over the curves of her body, then more possessively as she responded in kind. They savored each slow, sweet moment, learning by heart each inch of each other like they had all of eternity to stay in each other's arms. 

At length the suspense became too much, and a silent agreement was eagerly reached by simple eye contact. Her shock quickly evaporated, replaced by the simple sensation of drowning inside her husband's touch. Reassurances, whispered softly into her ear, anchored her to him as they flew through a world that neither of them had ever truly realized. 

What was it about those big fluffy white hotel robes, Evelyn wondered, that made you feel as though you'd been stolen away to some exotic location, free from responsibility and wrapped in nothing but a breezy, carefree existence? She found it very easy, in fact, to forget everything that was terribly wrong with her life. All it took was a fluffy white hotel bathrobe and the company of her husband. It was amazing how much she could forget, just lying in his arms. 

Her fingers idly traced the outline of the locket he still wore, fidgeting with the chain. "What's in it?" he asked, and she shrugged. 

"I don't really know. According to my mother, there used to be a picture of my father inside. I haven't been able to get it open since she gave it to me."

He picked at the lock but was equally as unsuccessful as Evelyn had been for the last eight years. "Here," he said, reaching for the clasp, "you should put it back on."

"No. Keep it." She slid the clasp to the back of his neck, ignoring his protest. "Please. I like knowing you have it. I like knowing you have something of mine." 

"Is this going to be like in all those Shakespearean plays where the woman makes her husband pledge never to part with their ring, and then trick them into giving it away while in disguise?"

"Dear no," she said, a demure smile lighting upon her lips. "I would never trick you like that."

"Uh huh."

"I _wouldn't_," she pouted. "I can't believe you'd think that of me."

"I think the world of you." He punctuated each sentence with tiny kisses along her collarbone. "I think you're beautiful. I think you're sexy. I think you're the most amazing woman I've ever met in my entire life."

Evelyn sighed dramatically, turning her face away. "Is that all?"

"You know what I like most about you?" She shook her head, caught suddenly by his eyes and the passion with which they stared into hers. "I like that you're mine," he said. "And I like that I'm yours. I like that I belong to you."

She couldn't meet his eyes in that moment, for if she did she was certain she'd cry. She'd cry over everything she saw when she looked at him--the promise of happiness, of love, of a life actually worth living. She'd cry over what she might soon lose. He'd have to leave soon, no matter how much they kept putting it off. Evelyn decided, against her will, to broach the subject. She buried her head into his shoulder and mumbled, "Where are you going to go?"

It bothered him how she wouldn't look at him. Everything made sense when he could see her face. "I don't know. There are ways to get out of the city."

"What about the temple? You could stay with Imhotep..."

"Too risky. I'd get caught."

"Oh." She risked unburying her head, looking up at him through lowered lashes. "Where to then?"

He shook his head helplessly. "I don't know." The thought that had been floating around his mind for hours, the certainty, hit him full force as he looked into his wife's eyes. "Come with me."

"What?"

"Come with me. I don't want to leave you again. It could be forever before... It could be never." She didn't react, so he pressed on. "I can't leave you. I know this is stupid, and terrible of me to ask you, and I know you have--"

"If you say 'responsibilities I'm going to divorce you. Of course we're going together. I'm not going to _let_ you leave me."

Relief, mixed with the ever-present anxiety, swept over him. So did a plan. "We'll go to Ra City. I know a guy there, we'll be safe."

Evelyn nearly laughed, the sheer angst of their situation strangely vanquished by the simple fact that they were together. "We should probably get going, then."

They dressed quickly, and Evelyn left most everything behind. Arm in arm, they strolled out of their room, trying to look as natural as one can checking out of a hotel at four in the morning. After what seemed like an interminable walk, they'd reached the elevator. Rick hit the "down" button and squeezed Evelyn's hand tightly. "Everything's going to be okay," he mumbled, barely audible. She heard him. 

Finally the elevator arrived, but so did something else. Rick ushered his wife into the elevator and as he stepped in, the corner of his eye caught something he really did not wish to see. Policemen. Several of them, heading this way. 

He jabbed at the "door close" button as Evelyn looked on, confused. "What?" she asked, as the doors closed with a soft ding. "What's wrong?"

"They're here." Rick hit the button for the sixth floor, then the lobby. "We have to find another way out."

"What? Who's here?"

Rick reached for Evelyn as the doors opened onto the sixth floor, pulling her into the hallway. "Cops. There has to be another way out."

Evelyn's stomach plummeted to her feet as they hurried along. "Stairs?"

"There must be a service elevator around somewhere...ah ha!" Indeed, around a darkened corner there was another elevator. He punched in a code on the little keypad as Evelyn looked on. 

"How do you know the code?"

"I have access to every electronic code in this city. Never know when you might need an override code. There are advantages to being my father's son."

They got inside and the elevator doors closed again, and Evelyn stepped closer to her husband. He wrapped his arms around her as they watched the little lights click down the floors, drawing closer and closer to the little "B." 

"I won't let them take you," Evelyn whispered. "They'll listen to me."

"If anything happens, just stay back. I don't want you getting hurt."

"And I don't want you getting _killed_."

"They're cops, I'd be fine. Just stay back, it'll be okay."

They both held their breath as the elevator reached the basement. The doors opened, revealing a well-lit, deserted storeroom. "Thank Osiris," muttered Rick. "Let's find the exit and get out of here. We'll take alleys, there's no way they can--"

"_Ding_," went an elevator behind them, and the couple whirled around to see the guest elevator apparently also went to the basement. _Seven, ding, six, ding..._

"They're coming," said Evelyn.

"Let's go!" 

But Evelyn was rooted to the spot. "No," she said, shaking her head. "No, you have to go without me. They'll never catch you if you're alone. You have to go."

Was she insane? He couldn't do that! "I'm not leaving you."

_Five, ding, four, ding..._

"Rick, listen to me." Evelyn choked back her tears and placed her palms on Rick's face, memorizing his eyes. "You have to go alone. They'll just find us faster if I go with you. Your only chance is to go alone."

"No!"

"You know I'm right!" 

_Three, ding..._

Never in his life had he felt so helpless. He couldn't leave her, she'd made up her mind to stay. And she _was_ right. No matter what he'd said to her, if the cops found him he would probably end up dead. She was terribly, terribly right, and he had to leave her...

_Two, ding, one, ding..._

"Everything's going to be okay," he repeated, kissing her one last desperate time. "I love you."

_Ding..._

Her husband disappeared into shadow, and she watched the darkness for a moment before turning to the policemen. Confusion flickered across their faces before they cautiously lowered their weapons, the princess clearly the last thing they'd been expecting to find on the trail of a suspected felon. 

"Hello," she said, slipping into the regal role of future queen. "I hereby order all of you to leave this hotel and escort me home. You will find nothing here."

Except, perhaps, broken dreams. 

~*~*~*~

Feedback is goooooooood. :):):)


	12. Eleven: She was a Lovely Girl

I'm hoping for the rest of this fic to go really really fast. Two more chapters ;) Thanks to those who are still with us! :)

11: She Was a Lovely Girl

Rain streamed down off the brightly-covered overhang as Sheila picked up the microphone and took a deep breath, trying to call up some sympathy for her next story. As soon as they'd heard over the radio, they'd pulled the news van over and found a suitable place to film a live bit. Her cameraman signaled, and she turned dark-rimmed eyes on the camera. "Tragedy," rang the clear voice of Sheila Montague, "has once again struck our fair city. So soon after losing a beloved son, a daughter, too, is taken from us. She was only twenty-one...."

Twenty-four hours earlier, Evelyn had no idea of the media firestorm to come. Having never really done much of anything wrong in her entire life, she was unsure of how her father would react. She'd broken just about every rule in the book--although a lot of them, such as her marriage, nobody knew about....yet. 

As it turned out, he reacted in a rather unreasonable, sadistic way, which was perfectly fitting considering it was her father they were talking about. "You mean to tell me," he hissed, "that they found you in the same hotel as the very man who killed your beloved cousin? Is there some connection I'm not getting here, Evelyn, or would you like to spell it out for me?"

"There's no connection, daddy. I _told_ you already, some friends from college were staying there. I decided to stay the night at the Luhrmann; I'm just so used to living on my own that I didn't think to tell anyone--"

"And the _basement_? Hmm? What were you doing in the basement?"

Evelyn was suddenly reminded of a forgotten memory. She'd been eight, and she knocked over an entire pyramid of champagne glasses in front of hundreds of guests. Her father had meted out according punishment--she was not to receive supper that evening--but one bout of hysterical tears from little Princess Evy and he relented. Perhaps the same trick would do here. "Daddy," she whined, tears welling up, "I don't understand why you're so upset. I just happened to be at the hotel. Nothing _happened_ with Rick, I--"

"I didn't imply that anything happened with 'Rick,'" said Seti. "That was all your inference, daughter. Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

Evelyn could feel her face reddening despite her best efforts, though she kept her mouth shut this time. 

"Well," her father continued, "in light of recent events, I think it prudent we head off public relations at the pass. Nothing for the people to get all worked up over. I have decided that you will marry."

Evelyn's stomach turned violently, and she felt as though all her insides were suddenly turned backwards. "But daddy, I don't even--"

"You will marry Beni Parris tomorrow morning," Seti snapped. "That is final. You have relinquished your right to have a say in this. You will marry Beni Parris tomorrow morning, or.... No. There is no 'or.' You have no choice."

And that, as reporters like Sheila later speculated, was why the princess killed herself. 

They couldn't have known that a lot more planning went into it than that. After raging about her room for an hour, fuming and sobbing and throwing pillows everywhere, Evelyn took a lead from her husband. She went down to the gardens, scaled the fence with only a slight sprained knee, and set off for the temple, her thinking being that if anyone could get her out of this mess, Imhotep could. 

She stormed into the priest's office, opened her mouth to speak, and promptly burst into tears. 

"There, there," said Imhotep, settling her into a chair. "It's not all that bad."

"Not all that bad?" bawled Evelyn. "My husband has been forced into exile in another country because he's wanted for the murder of my cousin, and my father is forcing me to marry a weasel! How much worse can it get?"

"Just calm down," said Imhotep, who'd never been good with women and tears in combination. "You don't have to marry the weasel. For one thing, it would be illegal."

"But only three people in the entire world know that! They're going to make me marry the weasel!"

Imhotep let her cry as he worked through it in his head. Maybe they could get her out of the country. But no, there were guards everywhere, and even though she didn't know it, he was sure some had followed her here. They could explain the whole situation.... No, it was too early, it would just put more trouble on Rick. She could....

No. No, he could never ask her that. He could never ask...

But it was so perfect. Never was there a plan more foolproof, more suited to their situation. If they didn't do something now, Evelyn would have to marry the weasel tomorrow morning, Rick would never be able to come back to the city, and worst of all, the two lovers would spend their entire lives apart...

Imhotep couldn't let that happen. He knew what it was to feel heartache so intense that the world could end and you'd never notice. They would have a chance. He'd make sure of it. 

"Evy," he said gently, "I think I have a plan. You have to trust me. Do you trust me?"

She nodded her head warily. "Yes, of course. But you're scaring me a little. What's the plan?"

"I want to show you a Book, Evelyn..."

It was amazing how much power they could cram into such a tiny little item. It fit into the palm of her hand, and had been neatly transported in her sock on the way back to the palace. The glassy surface gleamed in the soft light of her bedroom, and the liquid sloshed just slightly back and forth as she played with it, turned it over in her fingers. Painless, he'd said. Quick. And most of all, it wouldn't do internal damage. Her body would be whole, intact...

Dead. Evelyn shuddered. She'd never before seriously considered the possibility of her own mortality, much less the kind that she'd administer to herself. Several times she'd thrown the vial in the trash. But she retrieved it every time. One thought of Beni, and the next of Rick, and she'd salvaged it. This was their only chance. Their only option. 

Evelyn sat on the bed and put the vial down on the covers next to her. She wondered if her life would pass before her eyes. She wished fervently that if it did, and if she never came back, she could replay only those bits of her life with Rick in them. She filled up her mind with thoughts of him. How beautiful his eyes were, and how she got a little thrill in her stomach when he looked at her. How wonderful it was to hear him speak, and how he hung onto every word she said like it was gospel. How he could completely overpower every ounce of her willpower when he kissed her, and how passionately he made love to her. How much like heaven it was just to lie in his arms. How she felt as though she were the luckiest woman in the world when he was with her, and how she knew he felt the same way about her. How breathtaking it was to be in love with him. She'd give anything to have that. To have him. 

Evelyn uncapped the vial and raised it to her lips, hesitating only momentarily. It burned on the way down her throat, and when nothing happened at first she thought Imhotep must have given her the wrong one. 

Seconds later, it hit her body that the poison was very, very real. 

It only took a moment for the whole world to change. 

Rick had been asleep, a fitful, nightmare-plagued sleep. In his dreams her saw her, beckoning to him from an impossible expanse of desert. When he reached her, exhausted, dying, her beautiful face would morph into that of Lock, or Seti, or Bey, or Rick's own father, tormenting him and laughing as he faded into Hell. He'd wake up with a vague feeling that something was wrong, that he should have been somewhere else. That he should have been with her. 

This time, though, was different. He snapped out of sleep instantly, brought to life by the stab of a million different pains. His heart felt nearly wrenched out his chest, his head as though it might explode. Then just as suddenly as it had come, it was gone. But in its place, something was missing, something so vital to his being that he felt as though part of his soul had been torn away...

Something had happened to her. 

Izzy showed up at the Oasis Hotel in Ra City the next afternoon, but Rick had bribed the owner to turn on the cable and already heard the confirmation on television. By the time Izzy got to him, he was just numb, living in a state that was neither living nor dying. He'd simply climbed into Izzy's car, mumbled, "Take me back," and proceeded to be entirely silent for the eight hour drive back to New Verona. Izzy's fumbling attempts at conversation fell on deaf ears, his pleadings that Rick should eat, sleep, say _something_ went unheeded. They snuck into town underground, using the same tunnels Rick had used to flee. 

"It wouldn't kill you to eat something, you know," said Izzy as they emerged onto the streets under the still inky sky. "Or is that the whole point?" 

"I should never have left her," Rick finally said, but Izzy didn't hear him. "Goodbye, my friend. Thank you." Rick said, louder, and before Izzy could protest, Montague was gone. 

He kept to shadows, making his way slowly toward the royal vaults. Now that his plan was drawing closer, the dull pain was once again crystallizing into an acute sort of mental agony. They had to have the worst luck in the universe for this to have been their fate. To know her for such a short time, to be so happy, as if their entire lives had been crammed into one thirty-six hour period. Was that what Heaven was? A fleeting glimpse of the most perfect existence before reality took over the fantasy and dragged you back to Hell? 

Finally he reached the crypt, and was able to enter by waiting very patiently for security guards to come and go. Her name was marked very clearly on a map in the front entrance. He wasn't sure what he expected to see when he reached her vault. Would she be covered up, or stashed away in a sarcophagus? Would she be displayed for the gods to see, her exquisite beauty visibly wilting into the pallor of death? Surrounded by flowers, or candles, or memories? Maybe, even, this was all another terrible dream, and he'd wake up to her smiling face asking if he'd had a nightmare. 

He swung the door open before he could think about it too much, and there she was. She lay on a cold slab at the end of the room, dressed in a simple black garment. She was so pale, and her hand was colder than ice when he took it in his own. He kissed her fingers, massaged her hand as if to place some measure of warmth back into her, but she remained as cold as the biting night air. "I want to tell you something," he whispered, leaning close to her ear, knowing she would hear him. "It may not mean anything now. I don't know if I'm ever going to see you again. I don't know what comes next for me. All I can hope is that you're happy. I hope you're somewhere where you get everything you deserve, because you should have had everything. I'm sorry, Evy. I'm so sorry I let you down. I'm sorry I couldn't..."

His words faded into his closed throat and simply wouldn't come anymore. He reached around his collar and unhooked the delicate clasp of the locket's chain, replacing it around her ashen neck. He kissed her frozen lips softly, summoning up cruel memories of when they'd been warm, when she'd kissed him back. He'd never get to kiss her again. 

Rick raised the gun to his temple, and...

...and the locket fell open. 

~*~*~*~

Mmmmm, yummy cliffhanger. More reviews, faster posting time.....*cackle cackle bwahahahahaha*


	13. Twelve: Beautiful Silence

Only one person I talked to figured it out, and that was with a bit of prodding. Will be interested to know if you guys saw this chapter's twist coming. Tell me what you thought :)

12: Beautiful Silence

Imhotep sat back in his chair, sighing. The Book lay on the desk in front of him, sharp corners gleaming, ancient letters beckoning to be read. Imhotep stared at the phone next to it, willing the damn thing to ring. He'd sent Izzy to fetch Rick almost twenty-four hours ago. The priest hadn't given Izzy any details--oh, no, he could just imagine how _that_ would turn out--he'd just told him to get Rick here as soon as possible. "Tell him," he'd said, "that everything is okay. He just has to trust me."

Now, though, Imhotep was getting worried. Maybe Izzy had had trouble convincing Rick to come back. Maybe he hadn't been able to find him; maybe Rick had disappeared... Maybe he was dead. Wouldn't _that_ be poetic justice! Imhotep's perfect, foolproof plan, reuniting the lovers not in life, but in death. 

Maybe he should just go get Evelyn now, without waiting for Rick. Then where would she go? Evelyn couldn't get out the city without her husband's underground knowledge, even when she was supposedly dead. No one else could know, obviously. Besides, Imhotep wasn't sure he could handle the ceremony alone. He was scared he'd screw it up; he wanted someone else there to watch his back. Rick should be there when she woke up. She needed him to be there. 

As if answering his prayers, the door flew open as if someone had kicked it. Imhotep was too relieved to see the man alive to worry much about the gun he held in his hand. "Thank Osiris," he said, standing. "Are you okay?"

Rick's eyes narrowed, and he cocked the gun. "No," he growled. "Surprised you're looking so chipper, in fact."

"I don't know what you're planning to do with that gun, but we both know you're not going to shoot me. Why don't you put it down."

Rick shrugged, but the gun lowered a bit. "Oh, I don't know. My plans for this gun have changed a lot in the past hour."

Without asking, Imhotep knew what he meant. "What's different?"

"How could you?" Rick ignored the priest and pressed on with his own line of questioning. "How could you let her do that?"

"Just let me explain--"

"What I don't understand is how nobody's put it together by now. Any of it. It's a wonder my stepmother didn't jump on it. No way Evelyn could have obtained a poison that strong on her own."

"Just put the gun down, Rick. I _know_ what I'm doing--"

"I wasn't even going to bother, you know," the young widower continued. "I didn't figure accusing you of anything would do any good. Nobody who knew the truth would have been left but you. But then..." He took something out of his pocket and tossed in on the desk in front of the priest, finally lowering the gun. "Something came up."

Imhotep's stomach flipped as he picked up the locket, saw the yellowed picture inside. "Anck's locket..."

"How could you let her do that? You were supposed to protect her. You were supposed to keep her safe. How could you let..." A choked sob slipped from Rick's throat, hindering his words temporarily and betraying the stone wall he'd built around his emotions. "How could you let your own daughter do that?"

Imhotep closed his eyes. "Did she know?"

Rick's gun lowered just a fraction as he wondered exactly where this confrontation was going. "No. You must have hidden it very well."

Imhotep seemed to have retreated into himself as though he were only a shell. "It wasn't easy. You'd know that. People have figured it out before. Seti found out. Not about his...daughter, but...about...."

"You and his wife?"

If it was possible, Rick could actually see the color rising in Imhotep's cheeks. "Well, yes," he stammered. "You understand..."

"And yet he didn't kill you?"

Imhotep's face was bleak, traced by deeply-worn lines of pain. "I was too high up to just get rid of based on a dalliance such as that. It would have been too scandalous; Seti wouldn't risk me going to the press. He was too aware of his own hypocrisy to punish his wife publicly. We were watched very closely for a while. He was happy as long as he thought it ended."

Rick could read the bitterness in Imhotep's voice, but also a touch of triumph, as if he'd held onto these words for so long he could no longer resist spilling out the truth. "It didn't end, did it?"

"No. Not for a moment. You understand," he repeated, softly. "Of anyone, you'd understand."

"Oh, I don't know." Rick remembered the gun in his hand, remembered his purpose in coming here. "I've just found out that the man who is actually my father-in-law killed my wife, it's a little hard to be sympathetic."

"Hey!" Imhotep seemed to come alive again, the mention of Evelyn shaking him from his stupor. "For Osiris' sake, she'll be _fine_!"

Rick had absolutely no idea what to say, except the obvious: "Uh...she's dead."

"Exactly!" Imhotep leapt up, the Book in his arms. "Now we're on the same page."

Rick took a minute to process the object the priest held, the wheels turning slowly, but not quite yet up to speed. "Is that..."

"Yes."

"And what do you plan to do with it?"

Imhotep paused, a silence as loud as anything Rick had ever heard. "Give you back your wife."

Stories from childhood, legends he'd heard in church, flooded Rick's mind. Imhotep couldn't mean... Those stories couldn't possibly be true, could they? Such ancient magicks, even if they did exist, were certainly not meant to be used in the literal sense...

"I'm sorry," Imhotep was saying, breaking into Rick's spinning thoughts. "It's a huge risk, but the only other option she had was to marry the weas...Parris. Trust me, Rick." Imhotep placed the locket in Rick's hand and closed the younger man's fingers tightly around it. "We're going to get her back."

Before Rick could respond, the phone rang, and Imhotep snatched it up. "Hello?" he squeaked, and not for the first time Rick noticed the strain in his voice. The priest was nervous, and showing it. Funny thing was, though, Rick _did_ trust him...if all he said was true, if he could really have Evelyn back, if all this really did turn out to be one long living nightmare...

"Oh, shit," Imhotep muttered into the phone. "No, Chief Bey, I'm perfectly fine. No! Don't send anyone in. No. Just let me, uh... Just let me talk to him. He won't hurt me." Imhotep nodded at the gun still in Rick's hand, eyebrows raised. "I'm quite sure, Chief. Don't send anyone in, it will just...make him, uh, angrier. I'll call you back in thirty minutes." Imhotep slammed the phone down and stalked out of the room, clutching the Book. "Fantastic! Now they think you've stormed the temple and taken me hostage! What did you do..."

Imhotep's sentence trailed off as he entered the main chapel. His daughter's body lay on the altar. She looked so pale Imhotep might have sworn she was a ghost, especially against the stark black of her dress and the marble of the altar. He'd seen the body the previous morning, hovered as they took her away, insisted the mummification process be halted until they could perform a proper autopsy. That had been the trickiest part, convincing the officials to hold off. The tidier, the better, and Imhotep didn't want to have to deal with organs and such. He'd acted the part of saddened friend and priest, blessed the vault and closed the door. She was dead, though, she was really dead, and she would remain so unless he did something about it. It was entirely his doing, and she needed him. Her very life had been forfeited because she trusted him. 

"I couldn't leave her there," Imhotep heard Rick say, though the sound was muted in his ears. "I couldn't leave her behind."

Imhotep cleared his throat. "I assume the guards took issue with that."

He turned and looked at his son-in-law, who looked sheepish. "Yeah, that may be why the police are a little annoyed with me right now."

The priest rolled his eyes, deciding not even to bother. They had to get to work. "We have to start, we don't have much time until Chief Bey gets impatient and decides to send people in to collect you."

"What can I do?"

The answer came crystal clear to Imhotep, and he recalled again why he was doing all this. They deserved this chance. "Be here when she wakes up. She may be disoriented at first, it's important she sees someone familiar."

Rick placed the locket around his wife's neck, back where it belonged. "The woman that you loved," Rick said, "...she's dead."

This stopped Imhotep momentarily. "Didn't we already cover this?"

"Why don't you...resurrect her?"

Imhotep scanned the pages of the Book, though he knew exactly where the pages were. "She died in a fire. Her body is not...she's.... The ritual is very specific. The body has to remain perfectly preserved. No organs could be missing, or it won't work. For instance, if you'd blown your brains out..."

"Yeah yeah, I get the idea. Poof, gone. I'll keep that in mind."

"So to resurrect Anck the ritual would require human sacrifice...and she would not want that."

Rick considered this a moment, knowing he should probably not be asking these questions, but unable to stop himself. "What about you? Would you do that? For her?"

Imhotep looked at the dead woman on the altar before him. "Wouldn't you?" Rick was given no chance to reply as Imhotep gently pushed him out of the way, changing the subject. "I'm going to start reading the passage. It's very specific; if I screw it up...who knows what could happen."

"I'll stay out of the way." 

The words swam a little in front of Imhotep's eyes as he fought the panic rising in his throat. He'd reviewed these words beforehand, but as with any test of school-earned knowledge, the anxiety was still there. Languages had never been his strong suit. But the first word focused, came out of his mouth...the second word...a third, a fourth, until he was no longer even seeing the page. The rhythm and weight of the words rolled off his tongue as easily as they ever had, coming almost out of second nature...

Something began to happen as he read. It wasn't what either man was expecting, nor were they surprised to see what they did. It was simply there, shimmering and glittering in the filtered light of the chapel, imbuing life into the body of a forgotten princess, with simply a breath and a beat of her heart. 

Her eyes fluttered as though she were awaking from a dream, and immediately upon opening they caught sight of her husband. She sat up without a trace of weakness and was at once enveloped in his arms. Evelyn didn't need to ask whether she had woken in heaven or on earth, for setting had no consequence as long as he was there. 

Imhotep stood back, watched them. They were silent, just holding each other like they never intended to let go. He remembered that, he remembered that feeling of beautiful silence when words would not suffice for the simple feel of someone else in your arms. He'd lost that; he'd never have it back, but he'd given it back to them. At least one of the women he loved, he hadn't failed. 

The tableau was shattered only an instant later. _Thump_, they heard against the locked entryway, _thump, thump, thump_. A pause, then the noise started again, and they could hear the sound of voices from beyond the door, big, heavy voices with guns and agendas, coming to tear apart what had finally been fixed. 

"We'll go through the underground exit," said Rick, lifting his wife from the altar and setting her gently on the ground. "Can you walk? Do you need me to carry you?"

She shook her head no, perfectly fine physically but still struggling to speak. "I'm okay."

"This way," said Imhotep, steering them out the back entrance as the noises continued from the other side of the room, _thump, thump, thump_. "Evelyn, you remember where I told you to go?"

She nodded, wondering at the pain in his voice. Somehow he looked so frayed at the edges, so sad... She felt around her neck for her locket out of habit, surprised to find it there. Rick must have put it on her...

Imhotep led them down winding corridors until they'd reached the basement access. "You can make it if you stay low. There's no rush, the important thing is to get out alive, not fast."

Evelyn turned toward him one last time as she followed Rick through the doorway. "Thank you." 

Imhotep cleared his throat and nodded brusquely, waving her away. "Go."

She hesitated, looking first at Rick and then back at Imhotep. Then, she hugged the priest tightly, pressing something into his hand. "Thank you," she whispered again. "Thank you."

He watched his daughter and her husband make their way down the spiraling staircase, watched them until their figures became nothing but pinpricks in an abyss. He closed the door, and looked down at the open locket in his hand. 

~*~*~*~

Still an epilogue left. :):):)


	14. Epilogue

Much thanks to the faithful readers of this story--it wouldn't have been finished without you! Love you all! :):):)

Epilogue: 

Imhotep knew they were somewhere down south, but their letters came through a complicated ferrying system of trusted associates, and he could never be sure of their origin. He imagined them living in a tiny little apartment with blue walls and a tiled kitchen. A balcony, maybe, wrought-iron, that looked out across a square filled with oblivious people. Evelyn would have fresh flowers whenever they could afford them, and potted plants would grace every corner. She would take in a stray cat or two, entice them with bowls of milk and then beg Rick to let her keep them. Rick would give in, eventually. He would get a job at the grocery store down the street, bring her home fresh produce that she would attempt to prepare in edible fashion. Evelyn could not cook, Imhotep knew that. 

He missed them most when he was alone. Whenever someone entered his office, his first thought would be that it was Rick, dropping by to discuss whatever trouble- or romance-of-the-week he'd gotten himself into and needed help out of. It was only with Rick gone that Imhotep realized how much they'd talked, how much he'd depended on the younger man in the course of everyday life. Jonathan seemed to be finding more reasons to speak with the priest these days, usually on the pretext of political matters, but mostly he would just sit and talk about nothing in particular. Imhotep didn't mind. Jonathan missed Rick, too. 

Imhotep knew what it was to miss a child, even one you'd never really known as such. He'd always considered himself somewhat of a bystander in Evelyn's life. Pain had become less acute over the years, dulling with time and lost memories. It had not bothered him anymore when she spoke of Seti. He'd loved to watch Evelyn and Anck together, and somehow imagining that he was part of the picture made him happy enough. 

Imhotep tucked the morning paper into the file, taking a moment to rifle through the articles he'd already collected. 'Death,' 'suicide,' 'tragedy'... Then the words began to change. 'Compromise' showed up. Every once in a while, 'alliance.' A few mentions of 'friendship.' And finally, the beautiful words the priest had so longed to hear... "PEACE COMES TO NEW VERONA."

Imhotep would make sure that the city never lost it again. 

It was indeed a very small apartment, but the walls were yellow and Evelyn could not keep a plant alive to save the world. They filled the space instead with random collections of flea market finds and cheap furniture, imbuing the rooms with the cozy, cluttered feeling of a home. Rick did not work at the grocery store, instead managing a flower shop that was only two doors down from their building. Evelyn got a job, too, at the library--where she promptly caused enough destruction to get relegated to the basement. She spent her days discovering beautiful antique books in forgotten closets and reading fairy tales to the visiting children on the lunch hour, and she loved it. 

On Fridays the couple allocated a weekly five coins toward the weekend, taking turns in the spending of it. Evelyn prepared a grand feast consisting of finger-foods that she didn't actually have to cook. Rick bought a cut-rate record player from a co-worker, and he and his wife taught themselves to dance in the tiled kitchen. They shoved the tables up against the walls and stepped on each other's feet and laughed far into the night. Another time Evelyn splurged on candles and various sorts of bubble bath, an experiment that flooded the bathroom and probably would never be repeated. The next weekend they caught a bus up to the lookout point and watched shooting stars flash across the sky, dozens of them, one after the other. They were quite happy between their yellow walls. 

On one particular Friday Evelyn was sitting on the balcony, staring forlornly at her failed attempts at growing violets, waiting for Rick to come home. She wrestled with a secret that was, she supposed, far less serious and not nearly so devastating as many they had kept and revealed in the past. If she thought about it too much, she rather liked the idea, but was determined not to be happy until Rick knew, too. 

"Evy?" she heard from inside, but she didn't get up from the chair. "Evy?" she heard again, this time whispered in her ear. She turned and looked at her husband, who presented her with a little bouquet of sunflowers. "Hello, sunshine," he said, strong arms displacing her from the chair and pulling her into his lap. "How are the violets doing?"

"They're dead," she replied, snuggling into him. "I'm hopeless."

"They're not..." He tilted his head, studying the pot that contained the shriveled little flowers. "Yeah, okay, they're dead. Maybe you should try cacti."

Evelyn took a deep breath, launching into her strategy. "We got a letter from Imhotep from today."

"What'd he say?"

"Oh, the usual. He put in some newspaper clippings, actually. I was going to write him back tonight. Loads to tell him."

"Like what? Not much has been happening around here lately."

"Oh, you know..." Evelyn slid off Rick's lap and retreated to the kitchen, pretending to be going to put the sunflowers in some water. "About work. I checked out the most magnificent history about the capitol building today. We're getting a new supervisor next week, too, Ellen quit. And..." Evelyn took a deep breath, stepping out onto the balcony again. "I suppose he'd be interested to know...that he's going to be a grandfather."

Evelyn leapt back inside, and she was all the way to the other end of the tiny apartment before Rick registered what she'd said. "I hope she's better with kids than she is with plants," he said to the violets, and went back inside to tell his wife he loved her. 

~*~*~*~

__

le fin


End file.
